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CASKET 



li 




A CHOICE COLLECTION OF POEMS OF 
RARE EXCELLENCE. 



4lso, a Variety of Uskful and Entertaining Eeading for the Home Circle, not 'J'o be 

FOUND anywhere WITHIN A SIMILAR COMPASS. 



Compiled and Edited by Jacob Seiner. 



VOLUME I. 



PRICE, 



25 CENTS. 



SAN FKANCISCO: 
Wm. Johnstone & Co., Steam Book and Job PRI^^fTER.s, 414 Market .Sr, bklow Saxsome 

i^5 ■ ^^^^- 



-7-J^S^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by .Ja.-ob Seilbr, in the Office of 
the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



CASKET 



}4,\ 






^^w^im—^^i 



A CHOICE COLLECTION OF POEMS OF 
RARE EXCELLENCE. 



Also, a Variety of Useful and Entertaining Eeading for the Home Circle, not to be 

FOUND anywhere WITHIN A SIMILAR COMPASS, 



Compiled and Edited by Jacob Seiler. 



VOLUME I. 



PRICE, 



25 CENTS. 



SAN FRANCISCO : 

Wm. Johnstone & Co., Steam Booii^ and Job Printers, 414 Market St., below Sansome. 



/= 



('^ 



1877. 



PREFACE. 



The compiler of this little hand-book of choice poetry and interesting reading matter has been 
for many years impressed with the utility of such a work, and has accordingly improved every 
means in his power in accumulating, from various sources, the requisite materials. The object of 
this work is not only to gratify literary taste or curiosity, but to disseminate useful instruction 
among all classes of society. A number of the readings are from writers distinguished for high 
literary attainments, articles remarkable either for the excellent truths they convey or for the 
admirable rules which they prescribe for human conduct : some for striking incident, and all for 
excellence. The miscellany generally inculcates, in the most beautiful language, sentiments of piety 
and virtue. The selections of poetry are carefully and judiciously made, ranging over a wide field 
of poetical literature, and comprising some of the most sublime, pathetic and touching in our 
language. 

The present publication is Volume It We hope to issue one volume each year for many years 
to come. Our design is to make every succeeding number still more and more worthy of patron- 
age — to make it a conservator of well-being, lifting the thoughts into things pure and noble, and 
at a price commensurate with the means of the most humble in worldly goods. 

We launch our little casket upon the waves of popular opinion, trusting it will find its way 
into many a nook and corner where a larger offering would be inadmissible. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



HOME CIRCLE. Page. 

Author of Home, Sweet Home, The 7 

A Romp with the Children 10 

A Pure Expression 11 

Anecdotes and Sayings of Children 16 

A Mother's Influence 20 

Ballad of Baby Bell 10 

Beautiful Things 18 

Beautiful Things 21 

Children Out at Night 10 

Do n't Slander your Neighbor 11 

Do Some'^Good in the World 14 

Don't Stay Late To-night 16 

Good Morning 8 

Good-By 13 

Go Home, Boys 19 

Good Night 21 

Home, Sweet Home 7 

Home Education, Rules for 8 

Happy Every Day 14 

How to Grow Rich 13 

Is there Room in Angel Land ? 12 

It is Better 14 

Kind Words— Why Use them 10 

Little Hand, The 20 

My Wife and Child 8 

Make your Home Beautiful 11 

Measuring the Baby 12 

Nobody's Child 21 

Only a Baby 13 

Our Gardens 17 

Saturday Night , 9 

Sailor Boy's Farewell, The 14 

She Always Made Home Happy 19 

Trust Children 11 

The Trundle-Bed 13 

TiredMothers 15 

The Wife 15 

The Bird's Appeal 19 

Telling Mother 20 

Which Shall it Be? 9 

What do your Children Read ? 15 

Washington and his Mother, .,., i ....... . 17 



Page. 

Woman's Love 18 

Written at my Mother's Grave 22 

BOYS' AND GIRLS' TREASURY. 

A Little Boy's Pocket 26 

Boys Wanted 23 

Child's Pocket Etiquette, The 25 

Evening Words 24 

Frogs at School 22 

Jamie, the Sailor Boy 22 

Kiss me. Mamma 26 

Supposes 25 

Table Rules for Little Folks 23 

The Silver Rule 24 

Wash-day 25 

YOUNG WOMEN'S DEPARTMENT. 

Advice to Girls 27 

A Few Maxims for Young Girls 28 

A True Lady 29 

A Sister's Influence 30 

A Moral, Well Pointed 30 

Behavior in Company 29 

Don't Let Mother Do it 27 

Distinguished Women of the White House. 30 

Kindness 27 

Lord's Prayer, The 30 

Prayer of the Betrothed 31 

Romance and Reality 29 

The Secret of Matrimonial Happiness 27 

The One Safe Friend 28 

What Makes a Woman 26 

Womanly Modesty 28 

YOUNG MEN'S DEPARTMENT. 

A Word about Marriage 33 

Female Society 36 

Have a Fixed Purpose 34 

Lessons for Young Men. , 33 

Over and Done With 35 

Sir Walter Scott's Advice to his Son 36 

What Makes a Man 33 

What Young Men Should Do 34 

Words of Wisdom. .» i ........ ^ .. ^ 35 



VI 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



TEMPERANCE DEPARTMENT. 

An Angel in a Saloon 41 

Drunkard's Daughter, The 42 

Gough's Apostrophe to Water 38 

Licensed, to do What ? 38 

Moderate Drinking 37 

One Glass of Wine 37 

The Boy who Would Not Drink 37 

The Sin of the Drunkard 39 

The Rumseller's Proposal to the Devil 40 

There's Another Soul Gone 40 

Temperance in the Bible 40 

Refusing to Drink with Washington 39 

Who is She 39 

What a Fall 39 

RELIGIOUS READING. 

Augustus Toplady 51 

Bible, The 47 

Burial of Moses, The 48 

Beyond Comprehension 48 

Charlotte Elliott 46 

Eternal God, The, 43 

God's Way and Man's Way 51 

Items Every Man Should Read 50 

It is Told me I Must Die 51 

Lost Women 47 

Lord's Prayer, The 50 

Letter from Gen. R. E. Lee to his Son .... 50 

Over the River 43 

Purity of Character 46 

Returning Home 47 

Bock of Ages 49 

Read your Bible Daily 49 

The Old Man in the Stylish Church 45 

The Hour of Trial 46 

Take the Gospel Away, and What ? 49 

Universalism in a Nutshell 46 

CHOICE SELECTIONS OF POETRY. 

A Pastoral 56 

Alice Gary's Sweetest Poem 57 



A Hundred Years from Now 63 

Bivouac of the Dead, The 58 

Beautiful Snow 59 

Country in Autumn 54 

Curfew Must Not Ring To-night 61 

Do Not Sing that Song Again 66 

Enigma (The Letter " H ") 55 

God Pity the Poor 62 

I'll Know Thee There 52 

In School Days 64 

Lady Byron's Reply 60 

Light 62 

My Life is Like the Summer Rose 54 

No Time Like the Old Time 63 

Oh, Why Should the Spirit of Mortal be 

Proud? 65 

To Mary, in Heaven 52 

The Closing Scene 53 

The Blue and the Gray 55 

The Moneyless Man 56 

There is a Mystic Thread of Life 57 

The Forsaken 58 

The Evening Bells 60 

The Parting Hour 64 

Twilight 66 

The Smack in School 66 

MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. 

An Ingenious Composition. . . , 70 

Ancient Wonders 72 

Changes of a Century, The 68 

Death- Warrant of Christ 67 

First Prayer in Congress, The 68 

Facts in Natural History 69 

Great Bells of the World, The 71 

Mother Shipton's Prophecy 72 

Names of the Days of the Week 68 

Old-fashioned Love Letters 71 

Oldest Bible Manuscripts, The 72 

Pen-Portrait of Our Saviour 70 

Though Dead, yet He Lives 69 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



— t3t*.fe<S=^ 3,,2>*3*:5^— 



"HOME, SWEET HOME." 



'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, 
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. 
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, 
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met Avith 

elsewhere. 
Home ! Home ! sweet, sweet home, 
There's no place like home ; there's no place 

like home ! 

II. 

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain ; 
Oh ! give me my lowly thatch'd cottage again ; 
The birds singing gaily, that come at my call : 
Give me them, mth the peace of mind dearer 

than all. 
Home ! Home ! sweet, sweet home ! 
There's no place like home ; there's no place 

like home ! 

III. 

How sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond father's smile, 
And the cares of a mother to soothe and beguile. 
Let others delight 'mid new pleasures to roam, 
But give me, oh I give me the pleasures of home ! 

Home ! Home ! sweet, sweet home ! 
But give me, oh ! give me the pleasures of home ! 

IV. 

To thee I'll return overburdened with care. 
The heart's dearest solace will smile on me there ; 
No more from that cottage again will I roam. 
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ! 

Home ! Home ! sweet, sweet home ! 
There's no place like home ; there's no place 
like home ! 

We have given above the whole of this sweet 
and touching song, as its author wrote it. Prob- 
ably the most, if not all of our readers, have 
seen only the first two stanzas. The last two 
stanzas are rarely seen in print, and yet we 
think they are as beautiful as the others. 



It is better for parents to instruct their chil- 
dren and seek to make them happy at home, 
than it is to charm strangers or amuse friends. 



THE AUTHOR OF "HOME, SWEET HOME." 

[The following, which appeared several years 
since in JBaUoti''s Monthly, will possess for many 
no small interest. ] 

John Howard Payne was born in New York 
City, June 9, 1792. His father was educated as 
a physician under General Warren of revolution- 
ary fame, but afterward attained high eminence 
as a teacher of youth. The family was a distin- 
guished one. Judge Payne, one of the signers of 
the Declaration of Independence, being a mem- 
ber of it. John Howard Payne was one of the 
eldest of a family of nine children — seven sons 
and two daughters. While an infant, his father 
removed to this city and opened a school here, 
which attained great celebrity. John Howard 
proved a bright and precocious boy. While a 
mere lad, he commanded a company of youthful 
soldiers, well remembered by some of our older 
citizens. Under his father's tuition, he distin- 
guished himself as an elocutionist, and an actor 
fresh from London named Master Betty, acting 
as a juvenile tragedian, urged his appearance on 
the stage, and offered to bring him out. His 
father, however, declined. Subsequently, young 
Payne was placed in a counting-house in New 
York, and, Avhen only thirteen, commenced the 
publication of a theatrical paper called the 
"Thespian Mirror." His passion for the stage 
led to his making his appearance on the boards 
of the Park Theatre, New York, February 
24, 1809, when in his sixteenth year. He was 
completely successful, and starred it throughout 
the country. In 1818, both his parents being 
then dead, he visited England, appeared with 
success at Drury Lane Theatre, and played a 
brilliant provincial engagement. He next turned 
his attention to writing for the stage. Among 
his many successful pieces we may mention the 
"Magpie and Maid," "Accusation," the tragedy 
of "Brutus "written for Edmund Kean, "Charles 
II.," and " Clari, or the Maid of Milan," in 
which last he introduced the song of "Home, 
Sweet Home," first sung by Miss M. Tree, sister 
of Ellen Tree (Mrs. Charles Kean). Upwards of 
100,000 copies of this song were estimated to 
have been sold in 1832, yielding the publishers 
a profit of two thousand guineas. Most of 
Payne's pieces still keep the stage as standard 
dramas. But Payne, compelled to sell his pieces 
for low prices, and failing in several speculations, 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



returned home in 1832. Soon after his return he 
issued a prospectus for the publication of a period- 
ical with the fanciful title of Jam-Jehan Nima, 
an eastern title, signifying "The Goblet wherein 
you may behold the universe. " The publication, 
however, never saw the light. He was next ap- 
pointed consul at Tunis, at which post he re- 
mained a few years, and then returned home. 
Failing in his attempts to obtain a more lucra- 
tive diplomatic mission, he accepted a re-appoint- 
ment to Tunis, and died there in 1852. Payne 
was unfortunate in his career. He won fame, 
but not money. A sort of fatality seemed to 
attend every speculation he engaged in : but 
then it is true, he confined himself principally 
to the most precarious branch of literature, 
dramatic composition. Managers are hard peo- 
ple to deal with, and theatre-goers are proverb- 
ially capricious in their tastes. For the most 
part of his life he was a struggling wanderer in 
foreign lands, and may be said never to have had 
a home of his own. 

RULES FOR HOME EDUCATION. 

The following rules are worthy of being printed 
in letters of gold and being placed in a conspic- 
uous place in every household : 

1. From your children's earliest infancy, in- 
culcate the necessity of instant obedience. 

2. Unite firmness with gentleness. Let your 
children always understand you mean what you 
say. 

3. Never promise them unless you are quite 
sure you can give them what you say. 

4. If you tell a child to do something, show 
him how to do it, and see that it is done. 

5. Always punish your children for willfully 
disobeying you, but never punish them in anger. 

6. Never let them perceive that they vex you 
or make you lose your command. 

7. If they give way to petulance or ill temper, 
wait till they are calm, and then gently reason 
with them on the impropriety of their conduct. 

8. Remember, a little present punishment 
when the occasion arises is more eflfectual than 
the threatening of a greater punishment should 
the fault be renewed. 

9. Never give your children anything because 
they cry for it. 

10. On no account allow them to do at any 
one time what you have forbidden, under the 
same circumstances, at another. 

11. Teach them that the only way to appear 
good is to be good. 

12. _ Accustom them to make their little recit- 
als with perfect truth. 

13. Never allow of tale-bearing. 

14. Teach them self-denial, not self-indul- 
gence, of an angry and resentful spirit. 

Child Muedee.— Making a boy or girl of 
seven or eight study ten different branches of 
education every day, as they do in some schools. 



MY WIFE AND CHILD. 

The tattoo beats — the lights are gone, 
The camp around in slumber lies. 

The night with solemn pace moves on. 
The shadows thicken o'er the skies ; 

But sleep my weary eyes hath flown, 
And sad, uneasy thoughts arise. 

I think of thee, O darling one. 

Whose love my early life hath blest — 

Of thee and him — our baby son — 
Who slumbers on thy gentle breast. 

God of the tender, frail and lone, 
guard the tender sleeper's rest. 

And hover gently, hover near 

To her whose watchful eye is wet — 

To mother, wife — the doubly dear. 

In whose young heart have freshly met 

Two streams of love so deep and clear, 
And cheer her drooping spirits yet. 

Now, while she kneels before Thy throne,, 
teach her. Ruler of the skies, 

That, while by Thy behest alone 
Earth's mightiest powers fall or rise. 

No tear is wept to Thee unknown. 
No hair is lost, no sparrow dies ! 

That thou canst stay the ruthless hands 
Of dark disease, and soothe its pain ; 

That only by Thy stern commands 
The battle's lost, the soldier's slain ; 

That from the distant sea or land 
Thou bring'st the wanderer home again. 

And when upon her pillow lone 

Her tear-wet cheek is sadly pressed, 

May happier visions beam upon 
The brightening current of her breast. 

No frowning look nor angry tone 
Disturb the Sabbath of her rest. 

Whatever fate these forms may show, 
Loved Avith a passion almost wild, 

By day, by night, in joy or woe, 

By fears oppressed, or hopes beguiled, 

From every danger, every foe, 

God, protect my wife and child ! 

■ — Gen. " Sto7ieivair' Jackson. 



Good Morning. — Don't forget to say "Good 
morning." Say it to your parents, your broth- 
ers and sisters, your schoolmates, your teach- 
ers—and say it cheerfully and with a smile ; 
it will do your friends good. There is a kind of 
inspiration in every "good morning" heartily 
and smilingly spoken, that helps to make hope 
fresher and work lighter. It really seems to 
make the morning good, and to be a prophecy 
of a good day to come after it. And if this be 
true of the ' ' good morning, " it is also true of 
all kind, heartsome greetings. They cheer the 
discouraged, rest the tired one, and somehow 
make the wheels of life run smoothly. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



WHICH SHALL IT BE ? 

[The following poem is founded upon an inci- 
dent where a rich neighbor offered to make a 
poor family comfortable, and provide for the 
child, if one of seven vs^ere given to him. Some 
one who has felt the pangs of poverty, and yet 
been a father, with all the deep and holy feel- 
ings of a parent, has clothed it in poetical attire, 
and breathed into it a spirit of love, devotion, 
and faith that will find a holy response in the 
breast of every father and mother who are bless- 
ed with little pledges of affection — be they one 
or seven.] 

Which shall it be ? Which shall it be ? 
I looked at John — John looked at me 
(Dear, patient John, who loves me yet. 
As well as though my locks were jet) ; 
And when I found that I must speak, 
My voice seemed strangely low and weak. 
" Tell me again what Robert said :" 
And then I, listening, bent my head. 
This is his letter : 

' ' I will give 
A house and land while you shall live, 
If, in return, from out your seven. 
One child to me for aye is given ?" 
I looked at John's old garments, worn ; 
I thought of all that he had borne, 
Of poverty, and work, and care. 
Which I, though willing, could not share ; 
I thought of seven young mouths to feed, 
Of seven little children's need. 
And then of this. 

" Come, John," said I, 
" We'll choose among them as they lie 
Asleep." So, walking hand in hand, 
Dear John and I surveyed our band: 
First to the cradle lightly stepped. 
Where Lilian, the baby, slept ; 
Softly the father stooped to lay 
His rough hand down in a loving way. 
When dream or whisper made her stir, 
And huskily he said : " Not her !" 

We stooped beside the trundle-bed. 
And one long ray of lamplight shed 
Athwart the boyish faces there. 
In sleep so beautiful and fair ; 
I saw on James' rough, red cheek 
A tear undried. Ere John could speak, 
" He's but a baby, too," said I, 
And kissed him as we hurried by ; 
Pale, patient Robbie's angel face 
Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace, 
" No, for a thousand crowns not him," 
He whispered, while our eyes were dim. 

Poor Dick ! bad Dick ! our wayward son — 
Turbulent, restless, idle one — 
Could he be spared ? Nay, He who gave 
Bid us befriend him to the grave ; 



Only a mother's heart could be 
Patient enough for such as he ; 
" And so," said John, " I would not dare 
To take him from her bedside prayer. " 

Then stole we softly up above. 

And knelt by Mar3% child of love. 

" Perhaps for her 'twould better be," 

I said to John. Quite silently 

He lifted up a curl that lay 

Across her cheek in willful way. 

And shook his head : " Nay love, not thee,' 

The while my heart beat audibly. 

Only one more, our eldest lad, 
Trusty and truthful, good and glad. 
So like his father. ' ' No, John, no ; 
I cannot, v/ill not let him go." 
And so we wrote, in courteous way, 
We could not give one child away. 
And afterward toil lighter seemed, 
Thinking of that of which we dreamed, 
Happy in truth that not one face 
Was missed from its accustomed place ; 
Thankful to work for all the seven. 
Trusting the rest to One in Heaven. 



SATURDAY NIGHT. 

How many a kiss has been given, how many 
a ciirse, how many a caress, how many a kind 
word, how many a promise has been broken, 
how many a heart has been wrecked, how many 
a loved one has been lowered into the narrow 
chamber, how many a babe has gone from earth 
to heaven, how many a crib or ci'adle stands si- 
lent now, which last Saturday held the rarest of 
all treasures of the heart. A week is a life. A 
week is a history. A week marks events of 
sorrow or gladness of which people never have 
heard. Go home to the family, man of busi- 
ness ! Go home, you heart-erring Avanderer ! 
Go home to cheer that awaits you, Vv^ronged 
w^aif of life's breakers ! Go home to those you 
love, man of toil, and give one night to the joys 
and comforts fast flying by ! Leave your book 
with complex figures, your dirty M'orkshop, 
your busy store. Rest Math those you love ; 
for God only knows what the next Saturday 
night will bring you. Forget the world of care, 
and the battle of life, which have fui-rowed the 
week. Draw close around the family hearth. 
Go home to those you love, and as you bask in 
the loved presence, and meet to return the loved 
embrace of your heart's pets, strive to be a bet- 
ter man, and to bless God for giv^iug His weary 
children so dear a stepping-stone in the river of 
the Eternal as Saturday night. 



A LITTLE girl in Louisville, Ky., has com- 
posed a sentence of 42 letters, which embraces 
all the letters of the alphabet : "John Q. Pardy 
gave me a black walnut box of small size." 



lO 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



BALLAD OF BABIE BELL. 

Have you not heard the poets tell 

How came the dainty babie Bell 
Into this world of ours ? 

The gates of heaven were left ajar ; 
With folded hands and dreamy eyes, 

Wandering out of Paradise 
She saw this planet, like a star, 

Hung in the glistening depth of even, 
Its bridges, running to aaid fro, 

O'er which the white-winged angels go, 
Bearing the holy dead to heaven. 

She touched a bridge of flowers — those feet 
So light they did not bend the bells 

Of the celestial asphodels ; 
They fell like dew upon the flowers, 

Then all the air grew strangely sweet, 
And thus came dainty babie Bell 

Into this world of ours. 

She came and brought delicious May, 

The swallows built beneath the eaves ; 
Like sunlight in and out the leaves 

The robins went the livelong day ; 
The lily swung its noiseless bell 

And o'er the porch the trembling vine 
Seemed bursting with its veins of wine ; 

How sweetly, softly twilight fell ; 
Oh, earth was full of singing birds, 

And opening spring-tide flowers. 
When the dainty babie Bell 

Came to this world of ours. 

—T. B. Aldrkh. 



A ROMP WITH THE CHILDREN. 

Hundreds of men have no time to get ac- 
quainted with their children. They see in a 
general way that they are clean and wholesome 
looking ; they pay the quarterly school bills, 
and they grudge no expense in the matter of 
shoes and overcoats. They dimly remember 
that they once courted their wives, and said 
tender things in pleasant parlors where the 
cheerful gas-light sheds its glow, or on moon- 
light evenings under rustling leaves. The time 
for that has quite gone by, and they would feel 
as bashful as a schoolboy reciting a piece were 
they to essay a compliment now to the lady at 
the other end of the table. They have forgot- 
ten that home has its inalienable rights, and 
among them, first and chiefest, the right to 
their personal presence. 

Nothing rests a man or woman who has been 
busy about one set of things better than a total 
change of employment or feeling. A nap on 
the lounge is all very well, but after a half hour 
of it, if the most tired man will shake off dull 
sleep by a game of bo-peep with the baby, he 
■will be rested much more thoroughly than if he 
drowse away the whole evening, as too many 
business men do. 



Kind Words — Why Use Them? — 1. Be- 
cause they always cheer him to whom they are 
addressed. They soothe him if he is wretched; 
they comfort him if he is sad. They keep 
him out of the slough of despond, or help him 
out if he happens to be in. 

2. There are words enough of the opposite 
kind flying in all directions — sour words — cross 
words — fretful words — insulting words — over- 
bearing words — irritating words. Now, let 
kind words have a chance to get abroad, since 
so many and so different are on the wing. 

3. Kind words bless him that uses them. A 
sweet sound on the tongue tends to make the 
heart mellow. Kind words react upon the kind 
feelings which prompted them, and make them 
more kind. They add fresh fuel to the fire of 
benevolent emotion in the soul. 

4. Kind words beget kind feelings toward him 
that loves to vise them. People love to see the 
face and hear the voice of such a man. 

Kind words are therefore of great valiie in 
these hard times. 



Children Out at Night. — The practice of 
allowing boys to spend their evenings in the 
streets is one of the most rumous, dangerous, 
and mischievous things possible. Nothing so 
speedily marks their downward coiirse. They 
acquire, under the cover of the night, an un- 
healthy state of mind, vulgar and profane lan- 
guage, obscene practices, and criminal senti- 
ments, with a lawless and riotous bearing that 
is shocking to contemplate. It is in the byways 
after nightfall that boys generally acquire the 
education and the capacity for becoming rowdy, 
dissolute, criminal men. Parents, do you be- 
lieve it ? Will you keep your children at home 
nights, and see that their home is made pleas- 
ant and profitable ? And if this is true of boys 
(which no one can deny) how much more neces- 
sary is it that girls be kept at home after dark ! 
Nothing good can come of their gadding about 
when they should be at home, enjoying the 
social influence of the family-circle, and thus 
fitting themselves for future usefulness and be- 
coming ornaments to society. 



An Item for the Boys. — A little boy twelve 
years old once stopped at a country tavern and 
paid for his lodging and breakfast by sawing 
wood, instead of asking it as a gift. Fifty years 
later, the same boy passed the same little inn 
as George Peabody, the banker. 



The office of a wise man is to discern that 
which is good and honest, and shun that which 
is contrary. 

Girl Murdbr. — Reducing the waist of a 
atout girl several inches. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



I I 



MAKE YOUR HOME BEAUTIFUL. 

Make your home beautiful — bring to it flowers ; 
Plant them around you to bud and to bloom; 
Let them give light to your loneliest hours — 
Let them bring light to enliven your gloom : 
Make your own world — one that never has 
sorrowed — 
Of music and sunshine, and gold Summer air, 
A home- world, whose forehead care never has 
furrowed. 
One Avhose cheek of bright beauty shall ever 
be fair. 
Make your home beautiful — gather the roses 

That hoard up the sunshine with exquisite art 
Perchance they may pour, as your darkness closes, 
That soft. Summer sunshine down into your 
heart ! 
If you can do so, make it an Eden 

Of beauty and gladness almost divine ; 
'Twill teach you to long for that home you are 
needing. 
The earth robed in beauty beyond this dark 
time. 
Make home a hive, wdiere all beautiful feelings 

Cluster like bees, and their honey-dew brings; 
Make it a temple of holy revealings. 

And love its bright angel with "shadowing 
wings." 
Then shall it be, when afar on life's billows, 

Where your tempest-tossed children are flung. 
They will long for the shades of the home- 
weeping willow, 
And sing the sweet song which their mother 
had sung. 



Don't Slander your Neighbor. — No, don't! 
it's wicked. He may be innocent of the charge 
alleged against him ; you may have condemned 
him from circumstantial evidence, and it is nev- 
er safe to render a decision upon such evidence. 
Be sure you are right, before you undertake to 
go ahead. Your neighbor may be poor, and 
have no friends ; if so, by kind words and char- 
'itable deeds make yourself his friend, instead 
of, by harsh words and arbitrary display of the 
power with which wealth invests you, crushing 
an already humbled heart, and bringing misery 
upon one on whom it would have been just as 
easy, and far more natural, to have bestoM^ed 
comfort and happiness. 

The one upon whom you would vent your mal- 
ice may be a widow or an orphan — one deprived 
of her benefactor or guardian ; then be thou a 
benefactor, and sviffer not the breath of calumny 
to taint the fair fame of an unblemished charac- 
ter. If there remains one feeling of humanity 
in the bosom of the slanderer, how doubly keen 
must be his remorse when the amount of mis- 
ery he has occasioned forces itself upon him. 

Whea slanderous reports reach you, whether 
you believe them or not, do n't give them any 
greater publicity. It is bad enough to talk non- 
sense, but infinitely worse to talk slander. 



A PURE EXPRESSION. 

Every word that falls from the lips of mothers 
and sisters especially, should be pure, and con- 
cise, and simple — not pearls, such as fell from the 
lips of the princess, but sweet, good words, that 
little children can gather without fear of soil, 
or after shame, or blame, or any regrets to pain, 
through all their lives. 

Children should be taught the frequent use of 
good, strong, expressive words ; words that mean 
exactly what they should express in proper 
places. 

If a child, or young person, has a loose, flung- 
together way of stringing words while endeav- 
oring to say something, they should be made to 
"try again," and see if they cannot do better. 

It is painful to listen to many girls talk ; they 
begin with a "my goodness !" and interlard with 
" Oil's !" and " so sweet," "so queenly," and so 
many silly phrases that one is tempted to be- 
lieve they had no training at all, or else their 
mothers were very, very foolish women. There 
is nothing more disgusting than the twaddle of 
ill-bred girls ; one is provoked often into taking 
up a paper and reading and letting them ripple, 
and gurgle on like brooks that flow they know 
not whither. 

My heart warms with love for sensible girls 
and pure boys ; and after all, if our girls and 
boys are not this, I fear it is our own fault — that 
this great trust rests in the hearts and hands of 
the women of our land. 

If we have a noble, useful purpose in life, we 
will infuse the right spirit into those ai'ound us. 



Trust Children. — Never accuse a child of a 
fault unless you are certain it committed it. 
Children should not be treated with suspicion. 
We should act toward them in this matter as 
we feel we ought to act toward others, only with 
greater tenderness — not less, as is usually done. 
We should always put the best construction 
possible upon their conduct ; that is, unless you 
are sure a child is telling a lie, and can prove it, 
do not show the least hesitation in believing 
what it says. Far better that you should be 
deceived than to run the risk of showing a 
truthful chikl that you do not trust it. Your 
simple trust makes a lying child truthful. Your 
doubt of its truthfulness may make a truthful 
child a liar. 

THE LETTERS. 

The entire alphabet is found in these four 
lines. You can pick them out if you choose : 

' ' God gives the grazing ox his meat. 

He quickly hears the sheep's low cry ; 
But man, who tastes His finest wheat, 
Should joy to lift His praises high." 



12 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



IS THEEE ROOM IN ANGEL LAND ? 

These Hues were written after hearing the 
following touching incident related by a minis- 
ter:. A mother who was preparing some flour 
to bake into bread, left it for a moment, when 
little Mary, with childish curiosity to see what 
it was, took hold of the dish, when it fell to the 
floor, spilling the contents. The mother struck 
the child a severe blow, saying witwanger that 
she was always in the way ! Two eeks later 
little Mary sickened and died. On her death- 
bed, while delirious, she asked her mother if 
there would be room for her among the angels ? 
" I was always in your ivai/, mother, you had 
no room for little Mary, and will I be in the 
angels' way ? Will they have no room for me ? 
The broken-hearted mother then *elt no sacri- 
fice too great, could she have saved her child. 

Is there room among the angels 

For the spirit of your child ? 
Will they take your little Mary 

In their loving arms so mild ? 
Will they ever love me fondly, 

As the story-books have said ? 
Will they find a home for JSIary — 

Mary mimbered A\dth the dead ? 
Tell me truly, darling mother. 

Is there room for such as me ? 
Will I gain the home of spirits, 

And the shining angels see ? 

I have sorely tried j'ou, mother, 

Been to you a constant care. 
And you will not miss me, mother, 

W^hen I dwell among tlie fair ; 
Eor you have no room for Mary ! 

She was alwaj^s in your way, 
And she fears the good will shun her; 

Will they, darling mother, say ! 
Tell me — tell me truly — mother, 

Ere life's closing hour doth come. 
Do you think that they will keep me, 

In the shining angels' home ? 

I was not so wayward, mother, 

Not so very, very bad. 
But that tender love would nourish, 

And make Mary's heart so glad ! 
Oh ! I yearned for pure affection, 

In this world of bitter woe ! 
And I long for bliss immortal. 

In the land where I must go. 
Tell me once again, dear mother, 

Ere you take the parting kiss, 
Will the angels bid me welcome, 

To tliat land of perfect bliss ? 

— Christian World. 



The following sentence of only four letters 
contains all the letters in the alphabet: "John 
quickly extemporized five tow bags." 



MEASURING THE BABY. 

W^e measured the riotous baby 

Against the cottage wall : — 
A lily grew at the threshold, 

And the boy was just as tall I 
A royal tiger lily. 

With spots of purple and gold. 
And a heart like a jeweled chalice. 

The fragrant dew to hold. 

Without the blue-birds whistled 

High up in the old roof-trees, 
And to and fro at the window 

The red rose rocked her bees ; 
And the wee pink fists of the baby 

Were never a moment still, 
Snatching at shine and shadow 

That danced on the lattice-sill ! 

His eyes were as wide as bluebells — 

His mouth like a fiower unblown — • 
Two little bare feet, like funny white mice 

Peeped out from his snowy gown : 
And we thought with a thrill of rapture 

That yet had a touch of pain. 
When June rolls around wdth her roses. 

We '11 measure the boy again. 

Ah me ! in a darkened chamber, 

With the sunshine shut away, 
Through tears that fell like a bitter rain, 

We measured the boy to-day ; 
And the little bare feet, that were dimpled 

Aud sweet as a budding rose. 
Lay side by side together. 

In the hush of a long repose. 

Up from the dainty pillow. 

White as the risen dawn, 
The fair little face lay smiling, 

With the light of Heaven thereon ; 
And the dear little hands, like rose-leaves 

Dropped from a rose, lay still. 
Never to snatch at the sunshine 

That crej)t to the shrouded sill ! 

W"e measured the sleeping baby 

With ribbons white as snow. 
For the shining rosewood casket 

That waited him below ; 
And out of the darkened chamber 

We went with a childless moan : — 
To the height of sinless angels 

Our little one had grown ! 
— Emma Alice Broicii — Chris. Treasure/. 



Five of the sweetest words in the English 
language begin with H, which is only a breath; 
Heart, Hope, Home, Happiness, and Heaven. 
Heart is a hope-place, and home is a heart-place, 
and that man sadly mistaketh who would ex- 
change the happiness of home for anything less 
than heaven. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



13 



THE TRUNDLE-BED. 

As I rummaged through the garret, 

List'ning to the falling rain, 
As it pattered on the shingles, 

And against the window pane. 
Peeping over chests and boxes, 

Which with dust were thickly spread, 
I saw in the farther corner 

What was once a trundle-bed. 

And I drew it from the recess 

Where it had remained so long, 
Hearing all the while the music 

Of my mother's voice in song — ■ 
As she sung her sweetest accents. 

What I since have often read — 
*' Hush my dear lie still and slumber. 

Holy angels guard thy bed." 

As I listened, recollections 

That I thought had been forgot 
Came with all the gush of memory 

Rushing, thronging to the spot. 
As I wandered back to childhood. 

To those merry days of yore, 
When I knelt beside my mother. 

By that bed upon the floor. 

Then it was with hands so gently 

Placed upon my infant head, 
That she taught my lips to utter, 

Carefully the words she said. 
Never can it be forgotten, 

Deep are they in memory graven — 
" Hallowed be Thy name, Father ! 

Father ! Thou who art in Heaven. " 

This she taught me, then she told me 

Of its import great and deep : 
After which I learned to utter 

" Now I lay me down to sleep." 
Then it was with hand uplifted. 

And in accents soft and mild. 
That my mother asked " Our Father !" 

" Father, do Thou bless my child." 

Years have passed, and that dear mother 

Long has mouldered 'neath the sod, 
And I trust her sainted spirit 

Revels in the home of God. 
But that scene at summer twilight 

Never has from memory fled 
And it comes with all its freshness 

When I see my trundle-bed. 

"The little I have seen of the world teaches 
me to look upon the errors of others in sorrow, 
not in anger. When I take up the history of 
one heart that has sinned and suffered, and rep- 
resent to myself the struggle and temptation it 
has passed through — theljrief pulsations of joy, 
the feverish inquietude of hope and fear, the 
pressure of want, the desertion of friends — I 
would fain leave the erring soul of my fellow-man 
with Him from whose hands it came. " — Long- 
fellow. 



"ONLY A BABY"." 

We saw the long folds of fluttering crape, 
and unmindful of the knot of snowy white rib- 
bon, we said, "Who is dead?" And some 
one passing by made answer, " Only a baby." 
Only a tender, prattling j^infant, a promise of 
something strong and manly for future years, 
a hope suddenly crushed out, a bud that went 
home to blossom. Have you ever lost a 
baby? Ah! me, if so you will never say " Only 
a baby." Y''ou will remember how the little 
hands wandered to your bosom, how the little 
head lay nestled close, close to your loving 
heart every night ; how, when wearied with 
care, the sight of your baby was rest ; its ten- 
derness and helplessness drew from your heart 
its most sacred and holy feelings ; you have 
not forgotten the baby smiles, kisses of the 
angels; and you have not forgotten the utter 
loneliness, the empty crib, the last wailing cry, 
the closed lids, and waxen hands, and the aw- 
ful stillness when somebody said, ' ' Y^our babe 
is dead. " How you missed him ! the busy lit- 
tle hands outstretched for forbidden things ; 
how you prize the scratches on your best furni- 
ture that made you feel so sorry at the time. 
Here and there are broken toys, reminders 
everywhere of the babj'^, for was he not a king 
in your household, and did he not reign over 
all its inmates with gentlest sway ? Y''ou re- 
member how for weeks, lying half asleep, you 
sought for your baby, how you cried in the 
night, and refused to be comforted. To others 
he was, perhaps, "Only a baby, " but he was 
your all you do not want him back now, he 
loas yours, but he is a jewel in the heavenly 
crown of Him who hath said — "Forbid them 
not." 

Good-By. — It is a hard word to speak. Some 
may laugh that it should be, but let them. Icy 
hearts are never kind. It is a word that has 
choked many an utterance, and started many a 
tear. The hand is clasped, the word is spoken, 
we part, and are out on the ocean of time — we 
go to meet again — where ? God only knows. 
It may be soon, it may be never. Take care 
that your good-by be not a cold one — it may be 
the last one you can give. Ere you meet again, 
death's cold hand may have closed his eyes and 
chained his lips forever. Ah ! he may have 
died thinking you loved him not. Again, it 
may be a long separation. Friends crowd on, 
and give you their hands. How do you detect 
in each good-by the love that lingers there ; 
and how may you bear with you the memory of 
these parting words many days ? We must sep- 
arate. Tear not yourself away with a careless 
boldness that defies all love — give j^our heart 
full utterance — and if tears fall, what of it ? 
Tears are not unmanly. 

To desire little, levels poverty with riches. — 
Demoantus. 



H 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



THE SAILOR BOY'S FAREWELL. 

[We know not the author of the following 
lines, bvit all will agree that nautical phrase 
never was more beautifully interwoven in senti- 
ment of the heart's best love for those we cher- 
ish with the highest, holiest and purest affec- 
tion.] 

Earewell father — blessed hulk — 
In spite of metal, spite of bulk, 

His cable soon may slip ; 
Yet, while the parting tear is moist, 
The flag of gratitude I'll hoist 

In duty to the ship. 

Earewell mother — first-class she— 
Who launched me on life's stormy sea. 

And rigged me fore and aft ; 
May Providence her timbers spare, 
And keep her hull in good repair. 

To tow the smaller craft. 

F:' re well to sister, lovely yacht : 
Eut whether she'll be manned or not, 

I cannot now foresee ; 
!May some good sliip a tender prove, 
Well found in stores of truth and love. 

And take her under lee. 

Farewell to George — the jolly boat — 
And all tlie little crafts afloat 

In home's delightful bay ; 
When they arrive at sailing age 
May wisdom prove the weather-gauge 

And guide them on their way. 

Farewell to all on life's rude main, 
And though we ne'er may meet again. 

Through stress of stormy weather ; 
Yet, summoned by the Board above, 
We'll anchor in the port of love. 

And all be moored together. 



Happy Every Day. — Sidney Smith cut the 
following from a newspaper, and preserved it 
for himself : " When you rise in the morning, 
form a resolution to make the day a happy one 
to a fellow-creature. It is easily done ; a left- 
off garment to tlie man who needs it ; a kind 
word to the sorrowful ; an encouraging expres- 
sion to the striving — trifles, in themselves as 
light as air — will do at least for the twenty-four 
hours. And if you are young, depend iipon it, 
it will tell when you are old ; and if you are old, 
rest assured it will send you gently and happily 
down the stream of time and eternity. By the 
most simple arithmetical sum, look at the re- 
sult. If you send one person, only one, happily 
through each day, that is three hundred and 
sixty-five in the course of the year. And sup- 
pose you live forty years only after you com- 
mence that course of medicine, you have made 
14,600 beings happy — at all events for a time." 



IT IS BETTER. 

Better to wear a calico dress without trim- 
ming, if it be paid for, than to owe the shop- 
keeper for the most elegant silk, cut and 
trimmed in the most bewitching manner. 

Better live in a log cabin all your own, than a 
brown stone mansion belonging to another. 

Better walk forever than I'un into debt for a 
horse and carriage. 

Better to sit at a pine table, for which you 
j)aid three dollars ten years ago, than send home 
a new extension, black walnut top, and promise 
to pay for it next week. 

Better to use the old cane-seated chairs and 
faded two-ply carpet than tremble at the bills 
sent home from the upholsterer for the most ele- 
gant parlor set ever made. 

Better meet your business acquaintance with 
a free "don't owe you a cent" smile than to 
dodge around the corner to escape a dun. 

Better to pay the street organ-grinder two 
cents for music, if you must have it, than to 
owe for a grand piano. 

Better to gaze upon bare walls than pictures 
unpaid for. 

Better to eat thin soup from earthen-ware, if 
you owe your butcher nothing, than to dine off 
lamb and roast beef and know that it does not 
belong to you. 

Better to let your wife have a fit of hysterics 
than to run in debt for nice new furniture, or 
clothes, or jewelry. 

Miss Yonge, the novelist, suggests a change 
in the ceremonies of marriage in these memora- 
ble words : ' ' Why should not the marriage take 
place in really early morning, with the celebra- 
tion at its fit time, and only attended by the 
bride's maidens, the nearest and dearest to both, 
and by those friends and relatives whose hearts 
are in the matter ? Later in the day there might, 
according to the circumstances of the family, be 
a full festival, includingneighbors, and, above all, 
those special guests of our Lord's own M^edding 
feast, the poor and the maimed, the halt and 
the blind. Might not this, for the very reason 
that it Avould be a grievance to the world, be 
more like a Christian wedding and a safer be- 
ginning of the journey throiigh life ?" 

Do Some Good in the World. — Thousands 
of men breathe, move and live, pass off the 
stage of life, and are heard of no naore. Why ? 
They did not see a particle of good in the world, 
and none were blessed by them as instruments 
of their redemption ; not a word they spoke 
could be recalled, and so they perished, their 
light went out in darkness, and they were not 
remembered more than the insects of yesterday. 
Will you thus live and die, 0, man immortal ? 
Live for something. Do good, 'and leave behind 
you a monument of virtue that time can never 
destroy. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



15 



TIRED MOTHERS. 

A little elbow leans upon your knee, 
Your tired, knee, that has so much to bear ; 
A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly 
From underneath a thatch of tangled hair. 
Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch 
Of warm, moist fingers, holding yours so tight ; 
You do not prize this blessing over-much, 
You are almost too tired to pray to-night. 

But it is blessedness ! A year ago 

I did not see it as I do to-day — 

We are so dull and thankless ; a.nd too slow 

To catch the sunshine till it slips awaj^. 

And now it seems surpassing strange to me 

Tliat, while I wore the badge of motherhood, 

I did not kiss more oft and tenderly 

The little child that brought me only good. 

And if, some..night, when you sit down to rest. 
You miss this ell)ow from your tired knee ; 
This restless curling head from off your breast. 
This lisping tongue that chatters constantly ; 
If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped. 
And ne'er would nestle in your palm again ; 
If the white feet into their grave had tripped, 
I could not blame you for your heartache then ! 

I wonder so that mothers ever fret 

At little children clinging to their gown ; 

Or that the footprints wlien the days are wet, 

Are ever black enough to make tliem frown. 

If I could find a little muddy boot, 

Or cap, or jacket, on my chamber floor. 

If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot, 

And hear its patter in my home once more. 

If I could mend a broken cart to-day, 
To-morrow make a kite to reach the sky — 
There is no woman in God's world would say 
She was more blissfully content than I. 
But ah ! the dainty pillow next my own 
Is never rumpled by a shining head ; 
My singing birdling from its nest has flown, 
The little boy I used to kiss is dead. 

— Aldlne. 

How TO Grow Rich. — Nothing is more easy 
than to grow rich. It is only to trust nobody — 
to befriend none — to get everything, and save 
all we get — to stint ourselves and everybody 
belonging to us — to be the friend of no man, 
and have no man for our friend — to heap inter- 
est upon interest, cent upon cent — to be mean, 
miserable and despised for some twenty or 
thirtj'' years — and riches will come as sure as 
disease and disappointment. And when pretty 
nearly enough wealth is collected by a disre- 
gard of all the charities of the human heart, 
and at the expense of every enjoyment, save 
that of wallowing in filthy meanness — death 
comes to finish the work — the body is buried 
in a hole, the heirs dance over it, and the spirit 
goes — where ? 



WHAT DO Y^OUR CHILDREN READ ? 

A bad book, magazine, or nev/spaper is as 
dangerous to your child as a vicious companion, 
and will as surely corrupt his morals and lead 
him away from the paths of safety. Every 
parent should set this tliought clearly before his 
mind, and ponder it well. Look to what your 
children read, and especially to the kind of pa- 
pers that get into their hands, for there are now 
published scores of weekly papers, with a,t- 
tractive and sensuous illustrations, that are as 
hurtful to young and innocent souls as poison to 
a healthful body. 

Many of these papers have attained large cir- 
culations, and are sowing broadcast the seeds of 
vice and crime. Trenching on the very borders 
of indecency, they corrupt the morals, taint the 
imagination and allure the weak and unguarded 
from the paths of innocence. The danger to 
young persons from tliis cause was never so great 
as at tliis time; and every father and mother 
should be on guard against an enemy that is sure 
to meet their child. 

Our mental companions — the thotights and 
feelings that dwell with us when alone, and in- 
fluence our actions — these are what lift us up or 
drag us down. If your child has pure and good 
mental companions, he is safe ; but if, through 
corrupt books and xiapers, evil thoughts and im- 
pure imaginings get into his mind, his danger is 
imminent. 

Look to it, then, that your children are kept 
as free as possible from this taint. Never bring 
into your house a paper or peiiodical that is not 
strictly pure, and watch carefully lest any such 
get into the hands of your gro wing-up boys. — 
Arthur's Magazine. 

THE WIFE. 

It needs no guilt to break a husband's heart. 
The absence of content, the mutterings of 
spleen, the untidy dress and cheerless home, 
the forbidding scowl and deserted hearth, these, 
and other nameless neglects, without crime 
among them, have harrowed to the quick the 
heart's core of many a man, and planted there, 
beyond the reach of cure, the germ of dark de- 
spair. 0, may woman, before that sight ar- 
rives, dwell on the recollection of her j^outh, 
and cherishing the dear idea of that tuneful 
time, awaken and keep alive the promise she so 
kindly gave. And though slie may be the in- 
jured, not the injuring one — the forgotten, and ' 
not the forgetting v/ife — a happy allusion to the 
hour of peaceful love — a kindly welcome to a 
comfortable home — a smile of love to banish, 
hostile words — a kiss of peace to pardon all the 
past, and the hardest heart that was ever locked 
within the breast of selfish man will soften to 
her charms, and bid her live, as she had hoped, 
her years of matchless bliss, loved, loving and 
content — the source of comfort and the spring 
of joy. — Chambers' Journal. 



i6 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



DON'T STAY LATE TO-NIGHT. 

The hearth of home is beaming 

With rays of rosy light, 
And lovely eyes are gleaming 

As fall the shades of night ; 
And while thy steps are leaving 

The circles pure and bright, 
A tender voice, half grieving. 

Says, "Don't stay late to-night. "' 

The world in which thou movest 

Is busy, brave and wide, 
The world of her thou lovest 

Is OR the ingle side. 
She waits for thy warm greeting, 

Thy smile is her delight ; 
Her gentle voice entreating 

Says, " Don't stay late to-night." 

The world is cold, inhuman, 

Will spurn thee in thy fall ; 
The love of one pure woman 

Outlasts and shames them all. 
Thy children will cling round thee. 

Let fate be dark or bright. 
At home no shaft will wound thee, 

Then, " Do n't stay late to-night." 

— Ladies' Portfolio. 



"DON'T STAY LONG." 

A SKETCH FOB WIVES' HUSBANDS ONLY. 

"Don't stay too long, husband, "said a young 
wife, tenderly, in my presence one evening, as 
her husband was preparing to go out. The 
words themselves were insignificant, but the 
look of melting fondness with which they were 
accompanied spoke volumes. It told all the 
vast depths of a woman's love — of her grief 
when the light of his smile, the source of all her 
joy, beamed not brightly upon her. 

"Don't stay long, husband " — and I fancied 
I saw the loving, gentle wife, sitting alone, 
anxiously counting the moments of her hus- 
band's absence, and every few moments running 
to the door to see if he was in sight, and find- 
ing that he was not, I thought I could hear her 
exclaiming in disappointed tones, ' ' Not yet ! " 

"Don't sbay long, husband" — audi again 
thought I could see the young wife, rocking 
nervously in the great arm-chair and weeping as 
though her heart would break, as her thought- 
less "lord and master" prolonged his stay to a 
wearisome length of time. 

" Don't stay long, husband " — and the young 
wife's look seemed to say : " For here in your 
own sweet home is a loving heart whose music is 
hushed when you are absent ; here is a soft 
breast to lay your head upon, and here are pure 
lips, unsoiled by sin, that will pay you with 
kisses for coming back soon. "' 



Oh, you that have wives to say, "Don't staj' 
when you go forth, think of them kindly 
when you are mingling in the busy hive of life, 
and try, just a little, to make their homes and 
hearts happy, for they are gems too seldom re- 
placed. You cannot find amid the pleasures of 
the world the quiet joy that a home, blessed 
with such a woman's presence, will afford. 

Husbands, would you bring sunshine and joy 
into your homes ? Then spend your leisure 
hours with your families, and employ the time 
in pleasant words and kind actions, and you 
will realize in all its richness what is so beauti- 
fully described by the poet : 

Domestic happiness, thou only bliss 
Of Paradise that has survived the Fall. 

— The Mother's Magazine. 



ANECDOTES 



AND SAYINGS 
DREN. 



OF CHIL- 



A Christian mother, when praying beside 
her little boy, had mentioned his name in her 
prayer. Upon rising from her knees, he said, 
" I am glad you told Jesus my name, for when 
He sees me coming He will say, ' ' Here cornea 
little Willie Johnson. " 

"Papa," said a boy, " what is punctuation ?" 
"It is the art of putting stops, my child." 
' ' Then I wish you 'd go down into the cellar 
and punctiiate the beer barrel, as the ale is run- 
ning all over the floor." 

" Charley, what makes you so sweet ? " "I 
dess when Dod made me out of dust he put a 
little thugar in. " 

One of a chubby class of four-year-old Sun- 
day-school scholars, when talked to by his teach- 
er about the sins and frailties of the body, was 
asked, "Well, my son, what have you beside 
this sinful body ? " Quick as thought, the little 
fellow responded, ' ' A tean shirt and this nice 
pair of breeches." 

A LITTLE four-year-old, of Bristol, went to 
Providence, the other day, and, in the depot, 
was accosted by a Quaker lady, who asked ; 
"How old art thou, little girl?" She looked 
up in the face of the Quakeress, and replied : 
" I 'm not art thou ; I 'm little Jennie. " 

There never was a more touching story than 
that of the little Birmingham girl who, hearing 
that the cemetery was flooded, crept out of her 
bed early in the morning, and was soon found, 
waist-deep in water, weeping over her mother's 
grave. The little thing feared that the grave 
would be washed away. 

' ' How do you get along with your arithme- 
tic ?" asked a father of his little boy, who 
answered, and said: "I've ciphered through 
addition, partition, subtraction, distraction, 
abomination, justification, hallucination, deriva- 
tion, amputation, creation, and adoption !" 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



17 



OUK GARDENS. 

BY ELLA WHEELER. 

Let US weed our gardens, 

Children, one and all, 
Weed our precious flowers. 

While the weeds are small. 
Our hearts are our gardens, 

And God planted there 
Flowers of love and virtue. 

Saying, " Tend with care. " 

But, my little sisters, 

We have cultured seeds. 
Of envy, spite, and malice, 

And the noxious weeds, 
Growing large and larger, 

Strengthening hour by hour, 
If we do not j)ull them, 

Will choke out each flower. 

Let us Aveed our gardens 

While we yet are small, 
Uproot spite and envy. 

That worst weed of all. 
No true, noble woman. 

Ever yet, I know, 
Let the weed of envy 

In her garden grow. 

We must tend our flowers 

With the greatest care, 
So God's angels, seeing 

But sweet blossoms there, 
May inform the Master 

How faithful we have been. 
Keeping all our flowers 

Clean from weeds of sin. 



WASHINGTON AND HIS MOTHER.. 

THEIR LAST INTERVIEW. 

Who that has parted with an aged mother, 
and received her last blessing as he was about 
to go forth into a land of strangers to seek a 
home for himself, can read the following last 
interview between Washington and his mother, 
and suppress the rising tear that starts, unbid- 
den, at the remembrance of such a scene. Time 
may dim the recollection of many of the inci- 
dents of youth when we come in contact with 
the world, but there is a magic in the mother's 
voice — her well-remembered tone of admira- 
tion, her kindness and unceasing care will 
rise up before him who loved her, and follow 
him as a guardian angel in all the varied scenes 
of life. Happy the man who was blessed with 
such a mother, and loved her — happier he who, 
having such, forgets not her love, her kindness 
and instruction. 

Immediately after the organization of the 
present government. General Washington re- 
paired to Fredericksburg, to pay his humble 
duty to his mother, preparatory to his depart- 



ure for New York. An afi'ecting scene ensued- 
The son feelingly marked the ravages a tortur- 
ing disease had made upon the aged frame of 
his mother, and thus addressed her : 

"The people, madam, have been pleased, with 
the most flattering unanimity, to elect me to 
the Chief Magistracy of the United States, but 
before I can assume the functions of that office, 
I have come to bid you an affectionate farewell. 
So soon as the public business, which must nec- 
essarily be encountered iu arranging a new gov- 
ernment, can be disposed of, I shall hasten to 
Virginia, and " — Here the matron interrupted 
him : 

'-' You will see me no more. My great age, 
and the disease which is fast approaching my 
vitals, warn me that I shall not be long in this 
world. I trust in God, I am somewhat prepared 
for a better world. But go, George, fulfill the 
high destinies which Heaven appears to assign 
you ; go, my son, and may Heaven's and your 
mother's blessing be with you always." 

The President was deeply affected. His head 
rested on the shoulder of his parent. That 
brow on which fame had wreathed the purest 
laurel virtue ever gave to created man relaxed 
from its lofty bearing. That look which could 
have awed a Roman Senate in its Fabrican day, 
was bent in full tenderness upon the time-worn 
features of this venerable matron. 

The great man wept. A thousand recollec- 
tions crowded upon his mind, as memory, re- 
tracing scenes long past, carried him back to his 
paternal mansion and the days of his youth, 
and there the centre of attraction was his moth- 
er, whose care, instructions and discipline had 
prepared him to reach the topmost height of 
laudable ambition ; yet how were his glories 
forgotten while lie gazed upon her from whom, 
wasted by time and malady, he must soon part 
to meet no more. 

The matron's predictions were true. The 
disease which had so long preyed upon her 
frame completed its triumph and she expired 
at the age of eighty-five, confiding in the prom- 
ises of immortality to the humble believer. 



A WRITER in The Schoolday Magazine has 
gathered together the following dictionary 
words as defined by certain small people here 
and there : 

Back-biter — A flea. 

Fan — A thing to biush the warm off with. 

Fins — A fish's wings. 

Ice — Water that stayed out in the cold, and 
went to sleep. 

Nest egg — The egg the old hen measures by 
to make new ones. 

Pig — A hog's little boy. 

Snoring — Letting off sleep. 

Snow — Rain all popped out white. 

Stars — the moon's eggs. 

Wakefulness — Eyes all the time coming un- 
buttoned. 



18 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



BEAUTIFUL THINGS. 

BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER. 

A gentle voice, a heartfelt sigh, 
A modest blush, a speaking eye, 
A manner unaffected, free ; 
These things are beautiful to me. 

A ready hand, a loving heart, 
A sympathy that's free from art, 
A real friend among the few ; 
These things are beautiful and true. 

A mother's prayer, an answer mild, 
An aged sire, a little child, 
A happy home, a cheerful hearth ; 
These things are beautiful on earth. 

A joyful song, a chorus sweet. 
An earnest soul and willing feet, 
A day of -peace, a night of rest ; 
These things are beautiful and blest. 

A sister's love, a brother's care, 

A spotless name, a jewel rare, 

A cleanly tongue, that will not lie ; 

These things are beautiful — and why ' 

Because they all are born of love, 
And emanate from God above ; 
An earnest of the heavenly birth. 
These things are beautiful on earth. 



WOMAN'S LOVE. 

The following beaiitiful and touching ex- 
tracts are taken from a letter written by a dy- 
ing wife to her husband, which was found by 
him, some time after her death, between the 
leaves of a religious volume which she was 
very fond of perusing. The letter, which was 
literally dim with tear-marks, was written long 
before the husband was aware that the grasp of 
a fatal disease had fastened upon the lovely 
form of his devoted Avife, who died, it is stated, 
at the early age of nineteen. It shows how 
fathomless is the depth of a true Avoman's 
affection. 

"When this shall reach your eye, dear J., 
some day Avhen you are turning over the relics 
of the past, I shall have passed aw£iy forever, 
and the cold, A\'hite stone be keeping its lonely 
Avatch over the lips you have so often pressed, 
and the sod will be growing that shall hide 
forever from your sight the dust of one Avho 
has so often nestled close to your warm heart. 
For many long, restless nights, when all my 
thoughts were at rest, I have wrestled with the 
consciousness of approaching death, until at 
last it has forced itself upon my mind ; and, 
although to you and to others it might seem but 
the nerv^ous imagination of a girl, yet, dear J. , 
it is not so. Many weary, weary hours have I 



passed in the endeavor to reconcile myself to 
leaving you, Avhom I loA'e so well, and this 
bright world of sunshine and beauty ; and hard, 
indeed, it is to struggle on silently alone, with 
the sure conviction that I am about to leaA'e 
you forever and go down alone in the dark A^al- 
ley ! 'But I know in whom I have trusted,' 
' leaning on His arm I fear no evil. ' Do n't 
blame me for keeping all this even from you. 
How could I subject you, of all others, to such 
sorrow as I feel at parting, when time will soon 
make it apparent to you ? I could have wished 
to live, if only to be at your side when your 
time shall come, and pilloAAdng your head upon 
my breast, Avipe the death damps from your 
brow, and usher your departing spirit into the 
Maker's presence, embalmed in woman's holiest 
prayer. But it is not to be so — and I submit. 
"Yours is the privilege of watching through 
long and dreary nights, for the spirit's final 
flight, and transferring my sinking head from 
your breast to the Saviour's bosom ! And you 
shall share my last thought ; the feeble kiss 
shall be yours ; and even when flesh and heart 
shall have failed me, my eyes shall rest on yours 
nntil glazed in death — and our spirits shall hold 
one last communion until gentlj^ fading from 
my view — the last of the earth — you shall mingle 
with the first bright glimpses of the unfading 
glories of that better world, where partings are 
unknown. Well do I know the spot, dear J. , 
where you will lay me ; often have we stood by 
the place, and, as we Avatched the mellow sun- 
set as it glanced in quivering flashes through the 
leaves and brightening the grassy mounds around 
ns with stripes of burnished gold, each has 
thought that one of us would come alone ; and 
A\diicheA^er it might be, your name would be on 
the stone. But you loA^ed the spot ; I know 
you '11 loA^e me none the less when you see the 
same quiet sunlight linger and play among the 
grass that covers your Mary's grave. I know 
you will go often alone, when I am laid there, 
and my spirit will be Avith you then, and whis- 
per among the Avaving branches — I am not lost, 
but gone before." 



The Poor Boy. — Do n't be ashamed, my lad, 
if you have a patch on your elbow ; it is no 
mark of disgrace. It speaks well for your in- 
dustrious mother. For our part, we would 
rather see a dozen jiatches on your jacket than 
hear one profane or vulgar word fi-om your lips, 
or to smell the fumes of tobacco in your breath. 
No good boy Avill shun you because you can- 
not dress as aa'cII as your companion; and 
if a bad boy sometimes laughs at your ap- 
pearance, say nothing, my good lad, but walk 
on. We know many a rich and good man who 
was once as poor as you. Fear God, my boy, 
and if you are poor but honest, you will be re- 
spected a great deal more than if you were the 
son of a rich man and were addicted to bad 
habits. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



SHE ALWAYS MADE HOME HAPPY. 

In an old churchyard stood a stone, 

Weather-marked and stained, 
The hand ol: time had crumbled it. 

So only part remained. 
Upon one side I could just trace, 

" In memory of our mother !" 
An epitaph which spoke of "home" 

Was chiseled on the other. 

I 'd gazed on monuments of fame 

High towering to the skies ; 
I 'd seen the sculptured marble stone 

Where a great hero lies ; 
But by this epitaph I paused, 

Aiid read it o'er and o'er, 
For I had never seen inscribed 

Such words as these before. 

' She always made home happy !" What 

A noble record left ; 
A legacy of memory sweet 

To those she left bereft ; 
And what a testimony given 

Bjr those who knew her best, 
Engraven on this plain, rude stone 

That marked their mother's rest ! 

It was a humble resting-place, 

I know that they were poor. 
But they had seen their mother sink 

And patiently endure : 
They had marked her cheerful spirit, 

When bearing, one by one. 
Her many burdens up the hill. 

Till all her work was done. 

So when was stilled her weary head. 

Folded her hands so white. 
And she was carried from the home 

She 'd alwaj^s made so bright. 
Her children raised a monument 

That money could not buy 
As witness of a noble life 

Whose record is on high. 

A noble life ; but written not 

In any book of fame ; 
Among the list of noted ones 

None ever saw her name ; 
For only her own household knew 

The victories she had won — 
And none but they could testify 

How well her work was done. 



A LITTLE five-year-old girl had been told that 
it was night on the other side of the world when 
it was daylight on this. As a proof that this 
astronomical fact had taken root she exclaimed,, 
upon rising the next morning : " Now they are 
just goin' to bed in China, and the skeeters are 
Ijeginning to bite 'em. " 



THE BIRD'S APPEAL. 

Little girl with golden hair. 
Listen to a poor bird's prayer ; 
Boy, with brow of careless glee, 
Do not scorn a mother's plea. 
Do not steal my nest, so neat. 
And my baby birds so sweet ; 
What know you of all they need, 
How to warm, or how to feed ? 
Boy and girl, j^our mother oft 
Strokes your brow with fingers soft ; 
She loves you, as I love these, 
Do bring Vjack my darlings, please. 
Hard we worked, my mate and I ; 
Many a sunny morn went by ; 
But we rested not, nor played, 
Till our cosy home was made. 
Then what songs my partner sung 
While I brooded o'er the young ! 
What long flights o'er vale and hill 
We have had their mouths to fill ! 
Show us mercy — you are strong — 
Do not such a cruel wrong, 
Lest yourself maj^ vainly plead 
For the mercy you may need. 

— Sundai/ScJtool Visitor, 



GO HOME, BOYS ! 

Boys, don't hang around the corners of the 
streets. If yoii have anything to do, do it 
promptly, right on, then go home. Home is 
the place for boys. About the street corners, 
and at the stables, they learn to talk slang, and 
they learn to swear, to smoke tobacco and to do 
many other things which they ought not to do. 
Do your business and then go home. If your 
business is play, play, and make a business of 
it. I like to see boys play good, earnest, 
healthy games. If I was the town I would give 
the boys a good, spacious play-ground. It 
should have plenty of soft, green grass, and trees 
and fountains, and broad space to run and 
jump, and to play suitable plays. I would 
make it as pleasant, as lovely as it could be, 
and I would give it to the boys to jilay in, and 
when the play was ended I would tell them to 
go home. 

For when boys hang round street corners and 
the stables, they get slouchy and listless. 
Of all things I dislike a listless boy or girl. I 
would' have a hundred boys like a hundred 
yachts, with every spar straight and every rope 
taut, the decks and sides clean, the rigging all 
in order, and everything ready to slip the cable, 
and fly before the wind when the word comes to 

go- 
But this cannot be if you lounge about the 

corners, and idle away your time at the stables 

and the saloons. 

When yoii are from home have some business; 

and then go home. — Sunday-School Scholar. 



20 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



THE LITTLE HAND. 

The following beautiful lines were written by 
Honoria Marshall, wife of Sir Henry Lawrence, 
who was killed in the beginning of the Sepoy 
rebellion in India. They may prove profitable 
reading, not only to the young, but to older per- 
sons as well : 

That hand of thine, my precious child, 

How oft its soft caress I woo. 
And ask, with many a hope and fear, 

What is that little hand to do ? 

How ductile, soft, unworn by toil. 

The ready instrument of play, 
It executes the fancies quaint 

That make thy life one holiday. 

It rolls the ball, it guides the pen, 

And cyphers strange can deftly trace ; 

And oft, with warm affection's gush. 
It fondly strokes my careworn face. 

The mimic arms it well can wield, 
And rein thy small and stately steed ; 

And when we con the lettered page 
Points to the tiny words we read. 

And in thy parents' hands 'tis clasped. 

When night and morn our prayer is prayed. 

And pillows oft thy rosy cheek 

When slumber's spell is on thee laid. 

Twill not be always thus, my boy. 

For real life has other tasks ; 
WJiat is that little hand to do ? 
Once more thy yearning mother asks. 

Is it to guide the seaman's helm. 

Or point the gun 'mid ilashing swords ? 

Or will it wield the student's pen, 

And clothe thy thoughts in living words ? 

Will it be hard and worn with toil, 

Or pale with sickness' livid hue : 
Oh, could thy mother's heart divine 

What is that little hand to do. 

But, might her fervent prayer prevail, 
Unsullied should that hand remain. 

Clean from corruption's filthy touch, 
And pure from every sinful stain. 

Still ready for thy Master's work, 

The servant of a willing mind. 
More prompt to give than to receive. 

And grasped in many a greeting kind. 

And may another hand be found 
To hold it in love's wedded grasp ; 

And may the hands which God then joins 
Be one till death shall lose their clasp. 



A MOTHER'S INFLUENCE. 

Richard Cecil records the following as his ex- 
perience : — " Nothing used to impress upon my 
mind the reality and the excellence of religion 
so much as my mother's counsels and prayers. 
Frequently she retired with her children to a 
private room, and after she had read the Bible 
with us and given us some good instruction and 
advice, she kneeled down with us, and offered a 
prayer, which, for apparent earnestness and fer- 
vor, I have seldom known equalled. These sea- 
sons were always pleasant to us ; and some- 
times we looked forward to them with impa- 
tience. My mother seemed to me then almost 
an angel ; her language, her manner, the very 
expression of her countenance, indicating great 
nearness to the throne of grace. I could not 
have shown levity at sucla times. It would 
have been impossible. I felt then it was a 
great blessing to have a praying mother, and I 
have felt it much more sensibly since. These 
prayers and counsels time will never efface from 
my memory. They form, as it were, a part of 
my very constitution." 

TELLING MOTHER. 

A cluster of young girls stood about the door 
of the school - room, one afternoon, engaged in 
close conversation, when a little girl joined 
them, and asked them what they were doing. 
" I am telling the girls a secret, Kate, and we 
will let you know, if you promise not to tell any 
one as long as you live," was the reply. 

" I wo n't tell any one but my mother," re- 
plied Kate. ' ' I tell her every thing, for she is 
my best friend." 

' ' No, not even your mother ; no one in the 
world." 

" Well, then, I can't hear it ; for ivhat I can't 
tell my mother is not fit for we to hnoiu.'" After 
speaking these words, Kate walked away slow- 
ly, and perhaps sadly, yet with a quiet con- 
science, while her companions went on with their 
secret conversation. 

I am sure that if Kate continued to act on 
that principle, she became a virtuous, useful 
woman. No child of a pious mother will be 
likely to take a sinful course, if Kate's reply is 
taken as a rule of conduct. 

As soon as a boy listens to a conversation at 
school, or on the play-ground, which he would 
fear or blush to repeat to his mother, he is in 
the way of temptation, and no one can tell 
where he will stop. Many a man dying in dis- 
grace, in prison, or on the scaffold, has looked 
back with bitter remorse to the time when the 
first sinful companion gained his ear, and came 
between him and a pious mother. Boys and 
girls, if you would lead a Christian life, and die 
a Christian death, make Kate's reply your rule : 
" What I cannot tell my mother is not fit for 
me to know ;" for a pious mother is your best 
friend. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



21 



NOBODY'S CHILD. 

Alone in the dreary, pitiless street, 
With my torn old dress and bare, cold feet, 
All day I've wandered to and fro. 
Hungry and shivering, and nowhere to go ; 
The night's coming on in darkness and dread, 
And the chill sleet beating upon my bare head ; 
Oh ! why does the wind blow upon me so wild ? 
Is it because I'm nobody's child ? 

Just over the way there 's a flood of light, 
And warmth and beauty and all things bright ; 
Beautiful children in robes so fair 
Are caroling songs in rapture there. 
I wonder if they, in their blissful glee. 
Would pity a poor little beggar like me, 
Wandering alone in the merciless street, 
Naked and shivering and nothing to eat ? 

Oh ! what shall I do when the night comes down, 
In its terrible blackness all over the town ? 
Shall I lay me down 'neath the angry sky, 
On the cold, hard pavement alone to die ? — 
When the beautiful children their prayers have 

said. 
And mammas have tucked them up safely in bed, 
No dear mother upon me smiled ; 
Why is it, I wonder? I'm nobody's child. 

No father, no mother, no sister, not one 

In all the world loves me ; e'en the little dogs run 

When I wander too near them, 'tis wondrous 

to see 
How everything shrinks from a beggar like me ! 
Perhaps 'tis a dream ; but, sometimes, when I lie 
Gazing far up in the dark blue sky. 
Watching for hours some large, bright star, 
I fancy the beautiful gates are ajar. 

And a host of white-robed nameless things. 

Come fluttering o'er me on gilded wings ; 

A hand that is strangely soft and fair 

Caresses gentlj^ my tangled hair, 

And a voice like tlae carol of some wild bird — 

The sweetest voice that was ever heard — 

Calls me many a dear pet name. 

Till my heart and spirit are all aflame. 

And tells me of such unbounded love. 
And bids me come up to their home above ; 
And then with such pitiful, sad surprise. 
They look at me with their sweet blue eyes". 
And it seems to me, out of the dreary night, 
I am going up to that world of light, 
And away from the hunger and storm so wild ; 
I am sure I shall then be somebody's child. 



A LITTLE boy heard hi? mother tell of eight- 
een head of cattle being burnt the other night. 
' ' Were n't their tails burnt, also ? " he inquired. 



BEAUTIFUL THINGS. 

[This is a pretty little poem for a child to recite.] 
Beautiful ground on which we tread. 
Beautiful heaven above our head. 

Beautiful flowers, and beautiful trees, 
Beautiful land, and beautiful seas. 

Beautiful sun that shines so bright, 
Beautiful stars with glittering light. 

Beautiful Summer, beautiful Spring, 
Beautiful birds that merrily sing. 

Beautiful lambs that frisk and play, 
Beautiful night, and beautiful day. 

Beautiful lily, beautiful rose. 
Beautiful every flower that grows. 

Beautiful drops of pearly dew. 
Beautiful hills and vales to view. 

Beautiful flower and beautiful leaf. 
Beautiful world, thougli full of grief. 

Beautiful every tiny blade. 
Beautiful all that God hath made. 



GOOD NIGHT. 

How tenderly and sweetly falls the gentle 
"good night" into loving hearts, as members 
of a family separate and retire for the night. 
What mj^riads of hasty words and thoughtless 
acts, engendered in the hurry and business of 
the day, are forever blotted out by its benign 
influence. Small token, indeed ; but it is the 
little courtesies that make up the sum of a hap- 
py home. It is only the little courtesies that 
can so beautifully round off the square corners 
in the home of laboring men and women. 

The simple "I thank you" for a favor re- 
ceived will fill with happiness the heart of the 
giver. True v/ealth is not counted by dollars 
and cents, but by gratitude and affection of 
the heart. If a home be happy, it is of heaven 
the truest earthly symbol. If a home be happy, 
whether the owner possess a patch of ground or 
one thousand acres, they are indeed wealthy 
beyond mathematical calculation. Then how 
much the more lovingly are the sable folds of 
night gathering around the happy homes ; 
much more confidingly do its members deport 
their weary bodies in the care of divine good- 
ness, smoothing their over-taxed minds to the 
living realities of a beautiful dreamland ; awak- 
ing refreshed and invigorated for the coming 
day's labor, by their having bid their loved 
ones an affectionate "good night." 

And if, during this life, we have faithfully 
attended to all these little courtesies, these 
little soul needs ; if we have guarded carefully 
all "God's hearts " placed in our keeping, at 
the close of its brief, yet eventful day, how 
much the easier to bid all our dearly-beloved 
ones a final ' ' good night. " 



22 



THE BOYS AND GIRLS TREASURY. 



WRITTEN AT MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. 

BY GEO. D. PRENTICE. 

The trembling dew-drops fall 
Upon the shutting flowers — like souls at rest ; 
The stars shine gloriously — and all 
Save me is blest. 

Mother, I love thy grave ! 
The violet, with its blossoms blue and mild, 
Waves o'er thy head — when shall it wave 
Above thy child ? 

'Tis a sweet flower — yet must 
Its bright leaves to the coming tempest bow ? 
Dear mother, 'tis thy emblem ; dust 
Is on thy brow. 

And I could love to die — 
To leave, untasted, life's dark, bitter streams; 
By thee, as erst in childhood, lie, 
And share thy dreams. 

And must I linger here, 
To stain the plumage of my sinless years. 
And mourn the hopes to childhood dear, 
With bitter tears ? 



Ay must I linger here, 
A lonely branch upon a blasted tree, 
Whose last frail leaf, untimely sere, 
Went down with thee ? 

Oft from life's withered bower. 
In still communion with the past, I turn 
And muse upon the only flower 
In memory's urn. 

And when the evening pale 
Bows like a mourner on the dim blue wave, 
I stray to hear the night winds wail 
Around thy grave. 

Where is thy spirit flown ? 
I gaze above — thy look is imaged there ; 
I listen, and thy gentle tone 
Is on the air. 

Oh come — while here I press 
My brow upon thy grave — and in those mild 
And thrilling tones of tenderness, 
Bless, bless thy child ! 

Yes, bless thy weeping child. 
And o'er thy urn — religion's holiest shrine — 
Oh, give this spirit undefiled. 

To blend with thine. 



THE BOYS' AND GIRLS' TREASURY 



FROGS AT SCHOOL. 

Twenty froggies went to school 
Down beside a rushy pool : 
Twenty little coats of green. 
Twenty vests, all white and clean. 

"We must be in time," said they ; 

■"First we study, then we play ; 
That is how we keep the rule 
When we froggies go to school." 

Master Bullfrog, grave and stern, 

Called the classes in their turn ; 

Taught them how to nobly strive, 

Likewise how to leap and dive ; 

From his seat upon the log, 

■Showed them how to say " Ker-chog ! " 

Also how to dodge a blow 

From the sticks which bad boys throw. 

Twenty froggies grew up fast ; 
Bullfrogs they became at last ; 
Not one dunce among the lot, 
Not one lesson they forgot ; 



Polished in a high degree. 
As each froggie ought to be ; 
Now they sit on other logs. 
Teaching other little frogs. 

— George Cooper. 



JAMIE, THE SAILOR BOY. 

In a very small village there lived a little 
Scotch boy named Jamie. His mother loved 
him and he loved his mother. This little boy 
wanted to be a sailor. His mother did not like 
the idea of losing her little Jamie, but he had 
read so much about sailors and about foreign 
lands that he said : 

" Oh, mother, I do want to be a sailor!" and 
at last his mother said : 

"Jamie, you shall go." She gave him her 
blessing, and added : 

"Jamie, wherever you are, whether at sea 
or on land, never forget to acknowledge your 
God ; and give me a promise that you will 
kneel down every night on shipboard and say 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



your prayers. If the sailors laugh at you, don't 
mind ; say them, and trust in God. " 

Little Jamie looking up to his mother, the 
the tears trickling down his cheeks, and said, 
"Mother, I promise you I will." 

The boy went on board a ship bound for 
India. They had a good captain and some very 
good sailors, and when little Jamie knelt down 
at night there was no one who laughed at him. 
He had an easy time of it then. But coming 
back from India, some of the sailors deserted, 
and the captain had to get fresh ones ; among 
them was a very bad fellow. The first night, 
when the sailors had gone to their berths, see- 
ing little Jamie kneel down to say his prayers, 
he went up to him and, giving him a box on the 
ear, said : 

"None of that here, sir." 

Now, among the crew there was another 
sailor, a swearing sailor, I am sorry to say, but 
I think he had been taught what is right when 
lie was a lad. He came up to this bad fellow 
who had struck the boy, and said : 

' ' Come on deck and I will give you a thrash- 
ing, " and they went on deck. 

Now, I am not approving of the fight, but 
these men did fight, and the swearing sailor 
whipped the one who boxed the little fellow. 
Then they came back again into the cabin and 
the swearing man said : 

' ' Now, Jamie, say your prayers, and if he 
dares to touch jou I will dress him." 

' ' Well, the next night Jamie said to himself, 
"I don't like to make any disturbance onboard 
ship ; I will say my prayers in my berth ; I 
won't kneel down before the sailors, I will get 
into my hammock and say my prayers to my- 
self." 

Now was that wise ? was that fearless ? 
But mark the effect it had on the swearing 
sailor. The moment he saw little Jamie get 
into his hammock without saying his prayers, 
he went and took him by the neck, dragged him 
out of his hammock, and said : 

' ' Kneel down at once, sir ! Do you think I 
am going to fight for you, and you not say your 
prayers, you young rascal ?" 

During the whole voyage back to London, lit- 
tle Jamie had, in that reckless, thoughtless 
sailor, a man who looked after him like a father, 
and every night saw that he knelt down and 
said his prayers. The little fellow began to 
grow industrious and to read. He said to him- 
self : "Here is a swearing sailor who has re- 
proved me because I did not kneel down boldly 
before the men." Well, he began to learn all 
about ropes and ships, and about taking latitude 
and longitude. 

Now let me tell you a little of his history. 
Some years ago, the largest steamship ever seen 
was built. You remember it : the "Great 
Eastern. " ' You know that she went across the 
Atlantic with the wonderful cable. Now who 
do you think was the captain of that great 
^hip ? They wanted the cleverest captain they 



could find in England, and they selected little 
Jamie. When the great ship came back, after 
fulfilling her mission, the captain knelt before 
Queen Victoria, vi^ho said, " Rise, Sir James 
Anderson," and Sir James Anderson was none 
other than the little boy I have told you of. 
Home Visitor. 



TABLE RULES FOR LITTLE FOLKS. 

These lines were written by the Rev. Edwin 
F. Hatiield, D. D., of this city, " for the amuse- 
ment of his own little ones," and fii'st appeared 
in Woodivortli's Youth's Cabinet, twenty years 
ago. And they are just as good to-day. Mind 
them, little ones ! 

In silence I must take my seat 
And give God thanks before I eat ; 
Must for my food in patience wait 
Till I am asked to hand my plate ; 
I must not scold, nor whine nor pout. 
Nor move my chair nor plate about ; 
With knife, or fork, 6r napkin ring 
I must not play, nor must I sing ; 
I must not speak a useless word, 
For children must be seen — not heard ; 
I must not talk about my food, 
Nor fret if I don't think it good ; 
I must not say the "bread is old," 
"The tea is hot," "The coffee cold ;" 
I must not cry for this or that. 
Nor murmur if my meat is fat. 
My mouth with food I must not crowd, 
Nor while I'm eating speak aloud. 
Must turn my head to cough or sneeze, 
And when I ask, say, "If you please." 
The table cloth I must not spoil, 
Nor with my food my fingers soil. 
Must keep my seat when I have done, 
Nor round the table sport or run ; 
When told to rise, then I must put 
My chair away with noiseless foot. 
And lift my heart to God above 
In praise for all His wondrous love. 

— Christian at Worh. 



BOY^S WANTED. 

Men are wanted. So they are. But boys are 
wanted — honest, noble, manly boys. Such boys 
will make the desired men. Some one has de- 
clared, and truly, that these boys should pos- 
sess ten points, which are thus given : 1. Honest. 
2. Intelligent. 3. Active. 4. Industrious. 5. 
Obedient. 6. Steady. 7. Obliging. 8. Polite. 
9. Neat. 10. Truthful. One thousand first- 
rate places are open for one thousand boys who 
come up to the standard. Each boy can suit 
his taste as to the kind of business he would 
prefer. The places are ready in every kind of 
occupation. Many of them are filled by boys 



24 



THE BOYS AND GIRLS TREASURY. 



who lack some most important acquirement, but 
they will soon be vacant. Some situations will soon 
be vacant because the boys have been poisoned by 
rfeading bad books, such as they would never 
dare show their fathers, and would be ashamed 
to have their mothers see. The impure thoughts 
suggested by these books will lead to vicious 
acts, the boys will be ruined, and their places 
must be filled. Who will be ready for one of 
these vacancies ? Distinguished ministers, skill- 
ful physicians, successful merchants, must all 
soon leave their places for somebody else to fill. 
One by one they are removed by death. Mind 
your ten points, boys ; they will prepare you to 
step into vacancies in the front rank. Every 
man who is worthy to employ a boy is looking 
for you if you have the points. Do not fear 
that you will be overlooked. A young person 
having these qualities will shine as brightly as 
a star at night. 



GRAN'MA AL'AS DOES." 

A. H. POE. 

I wants to mend my wagon, 

And has to have some nails ; 
Just two, free will be plenty. 

We're going to haul our rails. 
The splendidest cob fences. 

We're making ever was ! 
I wis' you'd help us find 'em — 

Gran'ma al'as does. 

My horse's name is Betsey ; 

She jumped and broked her head, 
I put lier in the stable. 

And fed her milk and bread ; 
The stable 's in the parlor ; 

We didn't make no muss, 
I wis' you 'd let it stay there, 

Gran'ma al'as does. 

I's going to the corn-field. 

To ride on Charlie's plow ; 
I 'spect he'd like to have me ; 

I wants to go right now. 
Oh, won't I gee up a-wdlul. 

And whoa like Charlie whoas ? 
I wis' you wouldn't bozzer ; 

Gran'ma never does. 

I wants some bread and butter ; 

I's hungry worstest kind ; 
But Taddie mustn't have none, 

Cause she would n't mind. 
Put plenty sugar on it ; 

I tell you what, I knows 
It's right to put on sugar ; 

Gran'ma al'as does. 



E,EMEMBER thy Creator in the days of thy 
youth. 



EVENING WORDS. 

Come stand by my knee, little children, 

Too weary for laughter or song. 
The sports o, the day are all over, 

And evening is creeping along. 
The snowfields are white in the moonlight, 

The winds of the Winter are chill, 
But under the sheltering roof -tree 

The fire shineth ruddy and still. 

You sit by the fire, little children. 

Your cheeks are ruddy and warm ; 
But out in the cold of the Winter 

Is many a shivering form. 
There are mothers that wander for shelter, 

And babes that are pining for bread ; 
Oh, thank the dear Lord, little children, 

From whose tender hand you are fed. 

Come look in my eyes, little children. 

And tell me through all the long day 
Have you thought of the Father above us. 

Who guarded from evil your way ? 
He heareth the cry of the sparrow, 

And careth for great and for small ; 
In life and in death, little children, 

His love is the truest of all. 

Now go to your rest, little children. 

And over j'our innocent sleep. 
Unseen by your vision, the angels 

Their watch through the darkness shall keep 
Then pray that the Shepherd, who guideth 

The Lambs that He loveth so well. 
May lead you in life's rosy morning. 

Beside the still waters to dwell. 

— Emily Huntingdon Millei; 



THE "SILVER RULE" — PASTE IT UP. 

You all know the golden rule: "Do unto 
others as you would wish them to do unto you. " 
Here is a rule which is almost a part of the 
golden rule, but which we will put by itself, 
and, because of its value, call it the ' ' Silver 
Rule : " Think and say all you can of the good 
qualities of others ; forget and heep silent concern- 
ing their had qualities. " You can conceive how 
much such a course will lighten your own hap- 
piness, and raise you in the esteem of your 
mates Did you ever think any more of a boy 
or girl berause he or she found fault with oth- 
ers ? Never call your schoolmates or playmates 
ugly or cross to their faces, nor behind their backs. 
If they are ugly, or stingy, or cross, it does 
not make tliem better to talk or think about it, 
while it makes you love to dwell upon the faults 
of others, and causes your own soul to grow 
smaller, and you become like the foul bird that 
prefers carrion for food. Rather tell all the 
good you can, and try to think of some good 
quality. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



25 



SUPPOSES. 

Suppose, my little lady, 

Your doll should break her head, 
Could you make it whole by cpying 

Till your eyes and nose are red ? 
And would n't it be pleasanter 

To treat it as a joke ; 
And say you 're "glad 'twas Dolly's, 

And not your head that broke ? " 

Suppose you 're dressed for walking, 

And the rain comes pouring down, 
Will it clear off any sooner 

Because you scold and frown ? 
And would n't it be nicer 

For you to smile than pout, 
And so make sunshine in the house 

When there is none without ? 

Suppose your task, my little man, 

Is very hard to get, 
Will it make it any easier 

For you to sit and fret ? 
And would n't it be wiser 

Than waiting like a dunce, 
To go to work in earnest 

And learn the thing at once ? 

Suppose that some boys have a horse, 

And some a coach and pair, 
Will it tire you less while walking 

To say " It is n't fair ?" 
And would n't it be nobler 

To keep your temper sweet, 
And in your heart be thankful 

You ca-.i wdli u poa your feet ? 

And supioose the world don't please you, 

"Nor the way some people do. 
Do you think the whole creation 

Will be altered just for you ? 
And is n't it, my boy or girl. 

The wisest, bravest plan. 
Whatever comes, or does n't come, 

To do the best you can ? 

— Phcebe Gary, 

THE CHILD'S POCKET ETIQUETTE. 

I. Always say. Yes, sir ; No, sir ; Yes, papa ; 
No, thank you ; Good night ; Good morning. 
Never say how or which for what. Use no slang 
terms. Remember that good spelling, writing 
and grammar are the base of all true education. 

II. Clean faces, clean clothes, clean shoes and 
clean finger nails indicate good breeding. Never 
leave your clothes about the room. Have a 
place for everything, and everything in its place. 

III. Rap before entering a room, leave it with 
your face to the company. Never enter a pri- 
vate room or public place with your hat on. 

IV. Always offer your seat to a lady or old 
gentleman. Let your companions enter the car- 
riage or room first. 



V. At table eat with your fork ; sit up straight ; 
never uae your toothpick, although Europeans 
do, and when leaving ask to be excused. 

VI. Never put your feet on cushions, chairs 
or tables. 

VII. Never overlook any one when reading 
or writing, or talk or read aloud when others are 
reading. When conversing listen attentively 
and do not interrupt or reply till the other has 
finished. 

VIII. Never whisper or talk aloud at the 
churches, or other public places, and especially 
in private where any one is singing or playing 
the piano. 

IX. Lend coughing, hawking, yawning, sneez- 
ing or blowing is ill-mannered. In every case 
cover your mouth with your liand.kerchief, 
(which never examine — nothing is more vulgar, 
except spitting on the floor). 

X. Treat all with respect, especially the poor. 
Be careful to injiire no one's feelings by unkind 
remarks. Never tell tales, make faces, call 
names, ridicule the lame, mimic the unfortunate, 
or be cruel to insects, birds or animals. 



WASH-DAY. 

We's hang'n out our wash'n', 

Don't you see our teenty lines ? 
The shoestring one is Birdie's, 

The other one is mine. 
We allers wash on Monday, 

'Cause gran'ma allers does ; 
And the goodest way to housekeep 

I guess our gra'ma knows. 

We've got a teenty washboard, 

And a cunnin' little tub ; 
I does 'most all the rins'n, 

'Cause Birdie loves to rub. 
I tell you she piles soap on 

'Most more than Bridget does 
To do a dreat, big wash n' ; 

But Bridget never knows. 

She'd scold us worse than fifty 

If she could find it out ; 
But we's gen'Uy pretty quiet, 

And she don't know what we're 'bout.. 
If mamma'd come and see uSj 

I 'sj)ect she'd scold some more, 
'Cause we'v6 wetted up our sashes 

And slopped the pantry floor. 

We've crinkled up our fingers 

Till they look as gram'ma's do ; 
And Birdie slopped some soapsuds 

Right on my new blue shoe. 
We set it in the oven — 

I guess it'll dry right soon. 
There, we've done this dreat, big wash'n', 

And hung it out 'fore noon. 

^^ Yoiith^s Conipanion. 



26 



YCHJN^ WOMEN S DEPARTMENT. 



A LITTLE BOY'S POCKET. 

Do you know what's in my pottet ? 

Such a lot of treasures in it ! 

Listen now while I bedin it ! 

Such a lot of sins it holds, 

And all there is, you sail be told ; 
Everysin dat's in my pottet, 
And when, and where, and how I dot it. 

First of all, here's in my pottet 
A beauty shell— I picked it up ; 
And here's the handle of a tiip 
That somebody has broke at tea ; 
The shell 's a hole in it, you see : 
Nobody knows that I have dot it, 
I keep it safe here in my pottet. 

And here's my ball, too, in my pottet. 
And here's my pennies, one, two, fre, 
That Aunty Mary gave to me ; 
To-morrow day I'll buy a spade, 
When I'm out walking with the maid ; 
I can't put dat here in my pottet. 
But I can use it when I've dot it. 

Here's some more sins in my pottet ! 
Here's my lead, and here's my string, 
And once I had an iron ring, 
But through a hole it lost one day ; 



And this is what I always say — 
A hole's the worst sin in a pottet. 
Have it mended when you've dot it. 



Kiss me, Mamma. — ' ' Kiss me, mamma, be- 
fore I go to sleep." 

How simple a booK, yet how soothing to the 
little one is that soft, gentle kiss. The little 
head sinks contentedly on the pillow, for aU is 
peace and happiness within. The bright eyes 
close, and the rosy lip is revelling in the bright, 
sunny dreams of innocence. Yes, kiss it, mam- 
ma, for the good-night kiss will linger in memo- 
ry when the giver lies mouldering in the grave, i 
The memory of a gentle, loving mother's kiss / 
has cheered many a loving wanderer's pilgrim- ' 
age, and has been the beacon - light to illumin- ■ 
ate his desolate heart ; for, remember, life has 
many a stormy billow to cross, many a rugged 
path to climb, with thorns to pierce — and we 
know not what is in store for the little one so \ 
prettily slumbering with no marring care to dis- ! 
turb its peaceful dreams. The parched and fe- ! 
vered lips will become dewy again as recollection i 
bears to the sufferer's couch a mother's love — a | 
mother's kiss. Then kiss your little ones, kind 
mother, ere they sleep. There is a magic power 
in that kiss -which will endure to the end of life. 



YOUNG WOMEN'S DEPARTMENT. 



— »-?-»7^;f!i*?^ 



WHAT MAKES A WOMAN ? 

Not costly dress, nor queenly air ; 

Not jeweled hand, complexion fair ; 

Not graceful form nor lofty tread ; 

Not paint, nor curls, nor splendid head ; 

Not pearly teeth, nor sparkling eyes ; 

Not voice that nightingale outvies ; 

Not breath as sweet as eglantine ; 

Not gaudy gems, nor fabrics fine ; 

Not all the stores of fashion's mart, 

Nor yet blandishments of art ; 

Not one, nor all of these combined, 

Can make one woman true, refined. 

'Tis not the casket that we prize. 

But that which in the casket lies ! 

These outward charms that please the sight 

Are naught unless the heart be right. 

She, to fulfill her destined end, 

Must with her beauty goodness blend ; 

Must make it her incessant care 

To deck herself with jewels rare ; 

Of priceless gems must be possessed. 

In robes of I'ichest beauty dressed ; 



Yet these must clothe the inward mind 
In purity the most refined. 

She who doth all these goods combine 
Can man's rough nature well refine ; 
Hath all she needs in this frail life. 
To fit for mother, sister, wife : 
He who possesses such a friend 
Should cherish well till death doth end. 
Woman, in fine, the mate should be. 
To sail with man o'er life's rough sea ; 
And, when the stormy cruise is o'er. 
Attend him to fair Canaan's shore. 

The following sentiment is attributed to Na- 
poleon Bonaparte : "A handsome woman 
pleases the eye, but a good woman pleases the 
heart. The one is a jewel — the other a treas- 



Pleastjre is to women what the sun is to 
the flower ; if moderately enjoyed it beautifies, 
refreshes, and improves ; if immoderately, it 
withers, desolates, and destroys. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



27 



DON'T LET MOTHER DO IT. 

Daughter, don't let mother do it ! 

Do not let her slave and toil, 
While you sit, a useless idler, 

Fearing your soft hands to soil. 
Don't you see the heavy burdens 

Daily she is wont to bear 
Bring the lines upon her forehead — 

Sprinkle silver in her hair ? 

Daughter, don't let mother do it ! 

Do not let her bake and broil ; 
Through the long bright Summer hours 

Share with her the heavy toil. 
See, her eye has lost its brightness. 

Faded from her cheek the glow. 
And the step that once was buoyant. 

Now is feeble, weak and slow. 

Daughter, don't let mother do it ! 

She has cared for you so long. 
Is ifc right the weak and feeble 

Should be toiling for the strong ? 
Waken from your listless languor. 

Seek her side to cheer and bless ; 
And your grief will be less l)itter 

When the sods above her press. 

Daughter, do n't let mother do it ! 

You will never, never know 
What were home without a mother 

Till that mother lieth low — 
Low beneath the budding daisies. 

Free from earthly care or pain — • 
To the home so sad without her 

Never to return again. 

— Carrie Alton. 

ADVICE TO GIRLS. 

Somebody gives the following advice to girls. 
It is worth volumes of fiction and sentimental- 
ism : 

Men who are worth having want women for 
wives. A bundle of gewgaws, bound with a string 
of flats and quavers, sprinkled with cologne, 
and set in a carmine saucer — this is not help for 
a man who expects to raise a family of boys on 
veritable bread and meat. The piano and lace 
frames are good in their places, and so are rib- 
bons, and frills, and tinsels ; but you cannot 
make a dinner of the former, nor a bed blanket 
of the latter — and awful as such an idea may 
seem to you, both dinner and bed blankets are 
necessary to domestic happiness. Life has its 
realities, as well as fancies ; but you make it all 
decorations, remembering the tassels and cur- 
tains, but forgetting the bedstead. Suppose a 
man of good sense, and of course good prospects, 
to be looking for a wife, what chance have you 
to be chosen ? You may cap him, or you may 
trap him, but how much better to make it an 
object for him to catch you. Render yourself 
worth catching, and you will need no shrewd 
mother or brother to help you find a market. 



THE SECRET OF MATRIMONIAL HAP- 
PINESS. 

Dr. Alexander, in one of his letters, gives the 
following advice to a bride ; "In thy first sol- 
itary hour after the ceremony, take the bride- 
groom and demand a solemn vow of him, and 
give him a vow in return. Promise one an- 
other sacredly, never, not even in jest, to 
wrangle with each other ; never to bandy words, 
or indulge in the least ill humor, never, I say, 
never ! Wrangling in jest, and putting on an 
air of ill humor, merely to tease, becomes ear- 
nest by practice. Mark that ! Next promise 
each other, sincerely and solemnly, never to 
have a secret from each other, under whatever 
pretext, with whatever excuse it might be. 
You must continually, and every moment, see 
clearly into each other's bosoms. Even when 
one of you has committed a fault, wait not an 
instant, but confess it. And as you keep noth- 
ing secret from each other, so, on the contrarj^ 
preserve the privacies of your house, marriage 
state, and heart, from father, mother, sister, 
brother, aunt, and all the world. Y'^ou two, 
with God's help, build your own quiet world ; 
every third or fourth one whom you draw into 
it with you will form a party, and stand be- 
tween you two. That should never be. Prom- 
ise this to each other. Renew the vow at the 
least temptation. You will find your comfoLt 
and your happiness in it. Your souls will grow 
as it were together, and at last will become as 
one. Ah, if many a young pair had, on their 
wedding day, known this secret, how many 
marriages were happier than, alas ! they are." 



KINDNESS. 

As the quiet streamlet that runs along the 
valley nourishes a luxuriant vegetation, causing 
flowers to bloom and birds to sing along its 
banks, so do a kind look and happy countenance 
spread peace and joy around. 

Kindness is an ennobling sentiment. It sits 
upon the heart like dew upon the flower. It is 
as a morning prayer — an evening hymn — a 
dream of heaven. We look on this sentiment 
in a child as we look upon an orchard resplend- 
ent with blossoms ; nor do the happy songs and 
rich odors of the one steal more gratefully over 
the senses than do the hopes and promises of 
the other. In the day-dawn of life, joy sparkles 
in the young soul like dew-drops of the morn- 
ing. The earth is then belted with the rainbow 
of promise, and all things are clothed in the 
bright and illusive colors of a young and luxu- 
riant imagination. It is refreshing, at siich a 
time, to watch the buddings of a generous spir- 
it, and we long to behold the maturity of . such 
a flower, 

*' Fresh roses drip with sweetness there. 
And May-day smiles around. " 

Kindness is the ornament of man, as it is the 



YOUNG WOMEN S DEPARTMBN'1> 



chief glory of woman. It is, indeed, woman's 
true prerogative — her sceptre and her crown. 
It is the sword with which she conquers, and 
the charm with which she captivates. What a 
bright halo of honor does history throw around 
woman in her recorded deeds of kindness ! In 
the early history of Virginia, how like a foun- 
tain in the wilderness is the story of Pocahon- 
tas saving the life of Captain Smith ! In read- 
iijg the travels of Park and Ledyard, how grate- 
ful to listen to the high tribute they pay to the 
gentle goodness and tender sympathy of woman, 
whether in savage or civilized life ! If history 
tells of her having been in the rude camp, or 
on the bloody battlefield, her mission there has 
chiefly been to bind up the gashed bosom or 
staunch the bleeding wound, to alleviate the 
sufferings or quench the thirst of the dying 
soldier. 

But it was left to the Christian religion to 
give the beatitude to woman's character. The 
highest tribute to her sympathy and love, as 
well as the brightest examples of her overflow- 
ing goodness of heart, are found on the sacred 
pages. She washed the feet of the Redeemer 
with her tears, and wiped them with her hair ; 
she was the last to linger around His cross Avhen 
He was crucified, and the first at His tomb 
after He arose from the dead ; she was the 
deepest mourner at His death, and the most 
assiduous watcher by His grave. 

Young lady, would you be admired and be- 
loved ? Would you be an ornament to your 
sex and a blessing to your race ? Cultivate 
this heavenly virtue. Wealth may surround 
you with its blandishments, and beauty, learn- 
ing or talents may give you admirers, but love 
and kindness alone can captivate the heart, 
whether you live in a cottage or a palace, these 
graces can surround you with perpetual sun- 
shine, making you and all around you happy. — 
S. W. Irving. 

The One Safe Friend. — There is one safe 
friend for every maiden. It is her mother. 
Whom should you trust in, in whom repose con- 
fidence, if not in her ? No one else loves you 
so unselfishly, and no one else has loved you 
so long. It is a pity when girls are not con- 
fidential with their mothers. There are times 
when every young woman needs an older wom- 
an to guide and help her, and her mother is at 
these times her natural counselor and guardian. 
If she has no mother, let her pour her troubles 
and unfold her perplexities to some motherly 
woman, aunt, sister, friend, in whom she can 
believe. Many a heartache would be soothed, 
many a vexation rolled away, and many a mor- 
tification saved, if girls would remember that 
they have not the wisdom of Solomon, nor the 
dii^nity of Deborah, as yet, on their unwrinkled 
I. rows. Situations which baffle them would be 
plain to more experienced eyes, and they would 
be guided over hard places. — M. E. Sangster, in 
S. 8. Times. 



A FElW MAXIMS FOR YOUNG GIRLS. 



Never make your appearance in the morning 
without having first l>rushed and arranged your 
hair, and (iressed yourself neatly and completely. 

Keep your clothing in perfect order. Never 
let pins do thfe d«ty as buttons, or strings take 
the place of proper bands. 

Examine every garment when it comes from 
the wash, and, if necessary, mend it, with neat- 
ness and precision. Do not sew up the hole» 
in your stockings, as we have seen some care- 
less, untidy girls do, but take in a broad mar- 
gin around the hole, be it small or large, with a, 
fine darning needle and darning cotton, and cov- , 
er the fracture with an interlaced stiteh, so close i 
as to be strong as the body of the stocking, and j 
fine enough to be ornamental. j 

Train yourself to useful occupation. Remem- j 
ber it is wicked to waste time, and nothitig gives 
such an impression of vanity and absolute silli- 
ness as a habit of idling and never having any- 
thing to do. ! 

If you are in your father's house, take some de- 
partment of household labor upon yourself, and a 
part of the sewing, and make it your business to 
attend to it. Do not let a call from this idle girl, 
or a visit from that, or an invitation from the 
other interfere with the performance of your 
duty. 

If you can cultivate to perfection some art by 
which you can gain an independent livelihood, 
do it whether there is a necessity for it or not. 
Do it quietly, if you will but do it. There is no 
telling when or under what circumstance you 
may need it. 

W^OMANLY Modesty. — Man loves the myste- 
rious. A cloudless sky, the full-blown rose, 
leave him unmoved ; but the violet, which hides 
its blushing beauties behind the bush, and the 
7noon, when she emerges from beneath a cloud, 
are to him sources of inspiration and pleasure. 
Modesty is to merit what shade is to figures in 
painting — it gives it boldness and prominence. 
Nothing adds more to female beauty than mod- 
esty ; it sheds around the countenance a halo of 
light which is borrowed from virtue. Botanists 
have given to the rosy hue which tinges the 
cup of the white rose the name of ' ' maiden 
blush." This pure and delicate hue is the only 
paint Christian virgins should use ; it is the 
richest ornament. A woman without modesty 
is like a faded flower, which diffuses an un- 
wholesome odor, and which the gardener will 
throw from him. Her destiny is melancholy, 
for it terminates in shame and repentance. 
Beauty passes like the flower of the albo, which 
blooms and dies in a few hours ; but modesty 
gives the female character charms which supply 
the place of the transitory freshness of youth. 

The beauty of the mind is more lovely than 
that of the body. — Socrates. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



29 



ROMANCE AND REALITY. 

"There comes a time when the maiden de- 
parts from her father's house. She is called, 
she answers, she departs. Ah ! how many vis- 
ions of angels have there been ; bnt they were 
not God's angels. How many have gone out 
walking on flowers a little way, to find that the 
flowers changed to thorns. How many have 
gone out from their father's house, borne on the 
seraphic experience of love, scarcely touching 
the ground for joyfulness, to find, little by lit- 
tle, that love flowed away like a Summer's 
brook, and left in its place but the bare channel 
and the gravel. How many have .gone out to 
build a fiction which perished faster than the 
image fashioned in snow, which melts in the 
handling. How maiay have had their plans per- 
ish as they handled them. And yet, every 
maiden must go forth in her appointed time. 
Blessed are they who know how, when they go 
forth, in the first day, as it were, to behold, as 
Jacob did in his vision, God's ladder between 
earth and heaven, and God's angels ascending 
and descending, and, behind and above all, God 
Himself. See to it, you that are going, and you 
that are gone, that you do not forget to have 
your earliest plans in married life, your first 
hopes, include a true love to God, and a true 
purpose of serving Him. It is not enough that 
you love your husband. He is your head in the 
Lord ; he stands for the hour, as it were, inter- 
preting to you God's love ; but he is not God. 
Otherwise your ladder will be upon the ground, 
and too short to reach further than the storm- 
cloud, and ere long the wind will blow it over. 
Of all the sad things in this world, I think the 
saddest is the leaf that tells what love meant 
to be, and the turning of the leaf to tell what 
love has been. All blossoms — all ashes ; all 
smiles aiid gladness — all tears and sadness. 
Nothing is so beautiful as the temple that love 
builds ; and nothing is so miserable as the serv- 
ice of that temple. 

" My young maiden friend, love is not a pos- 
session, but a growth. The heart is a lamp, 
with just oil enough to burn for an hour, and if 
there be no oil to put in again, its light will go 
out. God's grace is the oil that fills the lamp 
of love. And if there be one thing that every 
woman, above all others, should say to herself, 
in the ambition of her married life, it is this : 
' I cannot be respected and loved as I must 
needs be to be happy, unless I can bring some- 
thing more than myself. It must be God in me 
that shall maintain me in that dignity and full- 
ness of proportion, and nobleness, and impress- 
iveness which shall win and hold love.' And a 
godless woman entering into the marriage rela- 
tion goes as a lamb to the slaughter. Wreaths 
of flowers are about her neck, but the knife is 
not far off. 

"It is sad — the desecration of love. It is the 
saddest thing on earth. There is nothing that 
touches, it seems to me, thecontemi^lative heart 



more than that. To see what it might be, if 
these early days are prophets of possibility, and 
then to picture what it is, is sad indeed. And 
more than anything else in the world, it fails for 
want of food. No other food for love is there 
but goodness. Love cannot any more burn with- 
out goodness than the flame without fuel. The 
sorrows that must go with you in all your life, 
or break suddenly upon you somewhere, cannot 
be borne without the help of God's ministering 
angels. As your household grows around you, 
and your children begin to feel the tides of life, 
and you become in turn their guides, as your 
parents were yours, you will find that no one 
can bear life well who has not God somewhere, 
a present help in time of trouble. 

"If there be anyching that young wedded 
love should have as its first vision, it is the lad- 
der between the earth and Heaven, and the 
angels of God ascending and descending, and 
God over all, blessing it. Begin your household 
life, begin your wedded life, with a firm hold on 
purity, on Heaven. Then there will be hope 
for you. Otherwise take the winter fate." — JI. 
}V. Beecher, in Herald of Health. 



Behavior in Company. — Leigh Richmond 
gave the following excellent advice to his 
daughters: — "Be cheerful, but not gigglers. 
Be serious but not dull. Be communicative, 
but not forward. Be kind, but not servile. 
Beware of silly, thoughtless speeches; although 
you may forget them, others will not. Remem- 
ber God's eye is in every company. Beware of 
levity and familiarity with young men ; a mod- 
est reserve, without affectation, is the only safe 
path. Court and encourage conversation with 
those who are triily serious and conversable ; 
do not go into valuable company without en- 
deavoring to improve by the intercourse per- 
mitted to you. Nothing is more unbecoming, 
when one part of a company is engaged in prof- 
itable conversation, than that another part 
should be trifling, giggling, and talking compar- 
ative nonsense to each other." 



A TRUE LADY. 

The late Lord CoUingwood said to his daugh- 
ter: " I cannot forbear pointing out to you, my 
dearest child, the great advantages that will 
result from a temperate conduct and sweetness 
of manner to all people, on all occasions. Nev- 
er forget that you are a gentlewoman, and all 
your words and actions should make you gen- 
tle. I never heard your mother — your dear, 
good mother — say a harsh or hasty thing to any 
person in my life. Endeavor to imitate her. 
I am quick and hasty in my temper ; but, my 
darling, it is a misfortune which, not having 
been sufficiently restrained in my youth, has 
caused me inexpressible pain. It has given me 
more trouble to subdue this impetuosity tbaix 
anything I ever undertook." 



30 



YOUNG WOMEN S DEPARTMElfT. 



DISTINGUISHED WOMEN OF THE 
WHITE HOUSE. 

Ten Years in Washington. 

Mary Abigail Fillmore was the rarest and 
most exquisite President's daughter that ever 
shed sunshine in the " White House." Although 
she died at 22, yet her memory is a benison to 
all young American women, especially to those 
surrounded by the influences incident to high 
station and brilliant social life. Not content 
with mere accomplishments, she secured a 
thoroughly practical education. She was a 
French, German, and Spanish scholar, a skill- 
ful musician, and an amateur sculptor. She 
combined intellectual force, genuine sensibility, 
and deep tenderness of heart with brilliant wit 
and sparkling humor. She used her opportu- 
nities, as the President's daughter, to minister 
toothers. "Blessing she was, God made her 
so," and her memory is a benediction to Ameri- 
can maidens. Not many years since, had you 
chanced to see a plainly-dressed girl of 11 Sum- 
mers, trundling through the streets of Lancaster 
a wheelbarrow load of wood, careless of her own 
appearance, but deeply interested in the com- 
fort of a poor colored woman, you would scarce- 
ly have chosen her as the girl who was to be- 
come the social queen of the White House, or 
who, by her surpassing brightness, was to make 
such an impression upon Queen Victoria that 
she chose to make this youthful American girl 
one of the leading ladies at the Court of St. 
James. On the continent and in Paris she was 
everywhere greeted as "girl queen." And 
when Harriet Lane was called to preside at the 
White House, honors of every kind, such as 
were never before bestowed uj)on an American 
girl, were heaped upon her. 

"dolly MADISON." 

" President Jefferson evinced his personal ap- 
preciation as well as his ofhcial recognition of 
Mrs. Madison, both in his letters and in the 
fact that he called her to preside at his table 
during the absence of his own family. But it 
was as the wife of the fourth President of the 
United States that she inaugurated the golden 
reign of the President's house. The beneficence 
and brilliancy of her reign were never approach- 
ed before her day, and have never been equaled 
since." We read that she was declared the 
most popular person in the United States, and 
wonder what was the secret of her power. 
Soon the answer is given : " She loved human 
beings, and delighted in their friendship. She 
never forgot an old friend, and never neglected 
the opportunity of making a new one." She fill- 
ed every hour of prosperity with the rare sunshine 
of her nature — in the hour of trial was not found 
wanting, and in the face of danger rose to the 
dignitjr of heroism. Her gallant stay in the 
White House while her husband had gone to 
hold a council of war; her cool commands rela- 



tive to the protection of the picture of Washing- 
ton, while in sound of the enemy's cannon and 
messengers begging her to flee, are proud facts 
in our history. No eminent man retired from 
service of the State ever had more public recog- 
nition and more honor bestowed upon him by 
the Government than did this ever-beloved wo- 
man. Until her death, on New Year's day, 
after paying their respects to the President, all 
the high officers of the government always ad- 
journed to the home of Mrs. Madison, to pay 
their respects to her. Congress conferred upon 
her the franking privilege, and unanimously 
voted her a seat in the Senate chamber — two 
privileges never before conferred upon any other 
American woman. 

A Sister's Influence. — " That man has 
grown among kind and affectionate sisters," I 
once heard a lady of much observation and 
kindness remark. ' ' And why do you think so ?" 
said I. " Because of the rich development of 
all the tenderer feelings of the heart, which are 
apparent in every word." A sister's influence 
is felt, even in manhood's later years ; and the 
heart of him who has grown cold with its chill- 
ing contact with the world will warm and thrill 
with pure enjoyment, as some incident aM'akes 
within him the soft tones and glad melodies of 
his sister's voice. And he will turn from 
purposes which a warped and false philosophy 
has reasoned into expediency, and weep for the 
gentler influence which moved him in his ear- 
lier years. 

A Moral, Well Pointed. — Sophronius, a 
wise teacher, would not allow his grown-up 
sons and daughters to associate with those 
whose conduct M^as not pure and upright. 
"Dear father," said the gentle Eulaliatohim 
one day, when he forbade her, in companj'- 
with her brother, to visit the volatile Lucinda, 
"you must think us very childish if you imag- 
iue that we would be exposed to danger by it." 
The father took, in silence, a dead coal from 
the hearth, and reached it to his daughter. 
" It will not burn you, my child; take it." She 
did so, and behold her delicate white hand was 
soiled and blacked, and her white dress soiled, 
too. ' ' We cannot be too careful in handling 
coals ; even if they do not burn, they blacken. 
So it is with the vicious. " 

THE LORD'S PRAYER. 

[As found in the note-book of an unfortu- 
nate woman, after her death.} 

Now I lay me down to sleep, 
(Dreading the awaking) 

I pray the Lord my soul to keep, 
(My heart is breaking) 

If I should die before I wake, 
(Which grant me, heaven) 

I pray the Lord my soul to take 
(Cleansed and forgiven). 



CASKET OF LITERARY T-REASURBS. 



31 



PRAYER OF THE BETROTHED. 

[The following appeared in a St. Louis paper, 
a long while ago. It was written by a lady of 
that city, over the signature of " Inez," and is 
a touching expression of altenpate hopes a.nd 
fears on the eve of her marriage. ] 

Father, I come before Thy throne 

With low and bended knee. 
To thank Thee, with a grateful tone, 

For all Thy love to me. 
Forgive me if my heart this hour 

I give not all to Thee, 
For deep affection's mighty power 

Divides it now with Thee. 

Thou knowest. Father, every thought 

That wakes within my breast. 
And how this heart has vainly sought 

To keep its love suppressed. 
Yet when the idol, worshipped one, 

Sits fondly by my side. 
And breathes the vows I cannot shun, 

To me, his destined bride. 

Forgive me, if the loving kiss 

He leaves upon my brow. 
Is thought of in an hour like this. 

And thrills me even now. 
He's chosen me to be his love 

And comforter through life ; 
Enable me, oh God, to prove 

A loving, faithful wife. 

He knows not, Father, all the deep 

Affections I control — 
The thousand loving thoughts that sweep 

Resistless e'er my soul. 



He knows not each deep fount of love 
That gushes warm and free ; 

Nor can he ever, ever prove 
My warm idolatry. 



Then guard him, Father — round his way 

Thy choicest blessings cast, 
And render each successive day 

Still happier than the last. 
And, Father, grant us so to live 

That when this life is o'er, 
Within the happy home you give 

We meet to part no more. 



No WOMAN is free from responsibility toward 
her own sex. All are to bear one another's 
burdens, and to share one another's sorrows. 
This is the true sisterhood of women. How- 
ever widely apart in station, they react upon 
each other for good or evil. The prizes of vir- 
tue may be given to the humblest as well aa 
the highest. After the late terrible war, the 
French government decreed three medals to 
women who had served the most faithfully in 
the hospitals. The first was given to a poor 
sewing girl, the second to an actress, the third 
to a woman of rank and fashion, whose name 
had been often mixed up with the scandals of 
the empire. Who could but feel that the spir- 
it of that noble Englishwoman, Florence Night- 
ingale, had been the inspiring example of these 
women, so widely separated in rank, and yet 
all united in the work of charity. — Mm. Henri/ 
Fkkl 



YOUNG MEN'S DEPARTMENT. 



WHAT MAKES A MAN ? 

Not numerous years, nor lengthened life, 
Not pretty children and a wife, 
Not pins and chains and fancy rings, 
Nor any such like trumpery things ; 
Not pipe, cigar, nor bottled wine, 
Nor liberty with kings to dine ; 
Nor coat nor boots nor yet a hat, 
A dandy vest, or trim cravat ; 
Nor all the world's wealth laid in store ; 
Nor Mister, Eeverend, Sir, nor Squire, 
With titles that the memory tire ; 
Nor ancestry traced back to Will, 
• Who went from Normandy to kill ; 
Nor Latin, Greek, nor Hebrew lore. 
Nor thousand volumes rambled o'er. 
Nor Judge's robe, nor Mayor's Mace, 
Nor crowns that deck the royal race ; 
These all united never can 
Avail to make a single man. 

A truthful soul, a loving mind. 
Full of affection for its kind ; 
A helper of the human race, 
A soul of beauty and of grace ; 
A spirit firm, erect and free. 
That never basely bends the knee ; 
That will not bear a feather's weight 
Of slavery's chain, for small or great : 
That firmly speaks of God within. 
And never makes a league with sin ; 
That snaps the fetters despots make, 
And loves the truth for its own sake ; 
That worships God and Him alone ; 
That trembles at no tyrant's nod — 
A soul that fears no one but God, 
And thus can smile at curse and ban ; 
That is the soul that makes the man. 

[This is the kind of men worth something in 
this world. We want a great many more such 
men than we now have. Will you not strive to 
be such a man ?] 



An" Important Age. — The line of conduct 
chosen by a boy during the five years from fif- 
teen to twenty will, in almost every instance, 
determine his character for life. As he is then 
careful or careless, prudent or imprudent, indus- 
trious or indolent, truthful or dissimulating, in- 
telligent or ignorant, temperate or dissolute, so 
will he be in after years, and it needs no prophet 
to cast his horoscope or calculate his chances. 



LESSONS FOR YOUNG MEN. 

Few things in the lives of young men are so 
impressive, or so full of valuable suggestions, as 
their frequent laments over lost opportunities for 
mental or moral culture. 

In his autobiography, Sir Walter Scott says : 
"If it should ever fall to the lot of any youth 
to peruse this piece, let such a youth remember 
it is with the greatest regret that I recollect in 
my manhood the opportunities for learning which 
I neglected in my youth ; that through every 
part of my literary career I have felt pinched 
and hampered by my own ignorance, and I would 
at this moment give half the reputation I have 
had the good fortune to acquire, if by doing so 
I could rest the remaining part upon a sound 
foundation of learning and science." 

Edmund Burke grew wise in this respect while 
it was not too late to retrieve the most of his er- 
rors and losses, before his youth was entirely 
past. He wrote to a friend : "What would I 
give to have my spirits a little more settled ! I 
am too giddy ; this is the bane of my life ; it 
hiirries me from my studies to trifles, and I am 
afraid it will hinder me from knowing anything 
thoroughly. I have a superficial knowledge of 
many things, but scarcely the bottom of any." 

Washington Irving, when giving counsel to a 
young friend, exclaimed, in the bitterness of his 
heart : " How many an hour of hard labor and 
study have I had to subject myself to, to atone 
in a slight degree for the hours that I suffered 
society to cheat me out of." 

Even DeQ.uincy, the last man in the world 
that we should have suspected of having wasted 
a moment in his daily life, laments more than 
once his "neglect of that mental and moral cul- 
tivation " which he regards as the " noblest of 
human pursuits. " On one occasion he says : "I 
resolve, therefore, to be more circumspect, to 
hoard my moments with a more thrifty spirit — 
to listen to the suggestions of indolence, and so 
quicken that spirit of intellectual improvement 
to which I devote my life. " 

It will do young men good to ponder well the 
lesson to be learned from these confessions. 



A WORD ABOUT MARRIAGE. 

A physician writes the following sensible ad- 
vice : " My profession has thrown me among 
women of all classes, and my experience teaches 



34 



YOUNG MEN S DEPARTMENT. 



me that God never gave man a greater proof of 
his love than to place women here with him. 
My advice is : Go, propose to the most sensible 
girl you know. If she says yes, tell her how 
much your income is, from what source derived, 
and tell her you will divide the last shilling with 
her, and love her with all your heart in the bar- 
gain. And then keep j'our promise. My word 
for it, she will live within your income, and to 
your last hour yoii will regret that you did not 
marry sooner. Gentlemen, don't worry about 
feminine untruth. Just you be true to her, love 
her sincerely, and throw it up to her frequently, 
and a more fond, faithful, foolish slave you will 
never meet anywhere. You won't deserve her, 
I know, but she will never see it. Now throw 
aside pride and selfishness, and see what will 
come of it." 



AVhat Young Men Should Do.^ — 1. Every 
young man should make the most of liimself, 
intellectually, morally and physically. 

2. He should depend upon his own efforts to 
accomplish these results. 

3. He should be willing to take advice from 
those competent to give it, and to follow such 
advice, iinless his own judgment or conviction, 
properly founded, should otherwise dii-ect. 

4. If he is unfoi'tunate enough to have a rich 
and indulgent father, he must do the best he can 
under the circumstances, which will be to con- 
duct himself very much as though he had not 
those obstacles to overcome. 

5. He should never be discouraged by small 
beginnings, but remember that all great results 
have been wrought out from apparently slight 
causes. 

6. He should never, under any circumstan- 
ces, be idle. If he cannot find the employment 
he prefers, let him come as near his desires as 
possible — he will thus reach the object of his 
ambition. 

7. All young men have ' ' inalienable rights, " 
among which none is greater or more sacred than 
the privilege to be " somebody." — Dunn. 



To Y^'ouNG Men. — Young man, if you wish to 
become somebody in the world, and hold a re- 
spectable position in society, do not stand on the 
street corners or in front of saloons — do not 
smoke constantly cheap cigars or chew tobacco. 
Remember, young ladies do n't wish to have 
their sweet lips pressed by mouths which are 
saturated and shriveled by tobacco juice, and 
when they swallow politely the smoke which has 
passed through your lungs and throat, and out 
again, impregnated with any bronchial affection 
you may have. The thought is loathing to a 
refined lady. 



HAVE A FIXED PURPOSE. 

The following admirable advice and caution to 
young men about to enter on the duties and con- 
flicts of life, and the value of a definite and set- 
tled purpose, are from an address by Sir Edward 
Bulwer Lytton, lord-rector of Glasgow Univer- 
sity, Scotland : 

"Having once chosen that calling which is to 
become your main object in life, cling to it firm- 
ly ; bring to bear upon it all your energies — all 
the information you are elsewhere variously col- 
lecting. All men are not born with genius, but 
every man can acquire purpose, and purpose is 
the backbone and marrow of genius ; nay, I can 
scarcely distinguish one from the other. For 
what is genius? It is not an impassioned pre- 
dilection for some definite ai't or study, to which 
the mind converges all its energies — each thought 
or image that is suggested by Nature or learning, 
solitude or converse, being habitually and invol- 
untarily added to those ideas which are ever re- 
turning to the same central point — so that the 
mind is not less busily applying when it seems 
to be the most released from application. That 
is genius, and that is purpose : the one makes 
the great artist or poet, the other the great man 
of action. And with purpose comes the grand 
secret of worldly success, which some men call 
w'ill, but which I would rather call earnestness. 
If I were asked, from my experience of life, to 
say what attribute most impressed the minds of 
others, or most commanded fortune, I should 
say, ' ' earnestness. " 

" The earnest man wins way for himself, and 
earnestness and truth go together. Never affect 
to be other than you are, either richer or wiser. 
Never be ashamed to say, "I do not know." 
Men will then believe you when you say, " I do 
know." Never be ashamed to say, whether as 
applied to time or money, "I cannot afford it" 
— "I cannot afford to waste an hour in the idle- 
ness to which you invite me ; I cannot afford the 
guinea you ask me to throw away. " Once es- 
tablish yourself and your mode of life as what 
they really are, and your foot is on solid ground, 
whether for the gradual step onward or for the 
sudden spring over a precipice. From these 
maxims let me deduce another : learn to say 
" No " with decision; "Yes" with caution — 
" No " with decision whenever it resists tempta- 
tion; "Yes" with caution whenever it implies 
a promise. A promise once given is a bond in- 
violable. A man is already of consequence in 
the world when it is known that we can implic- 
itly rely upon him. I have frequently seen in 
life a person preferred to a long list of appli- 
cants, for some important charge which lifts 
him at once into station and fortune, merely be- 
cause he has this reputation, that when he says 
he knows a thing he knows it, and when he says 
he will do a thing he M'ill do it. Reflect over 
these maxims ; you will find it easy enough to 
practice them." 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



35 



OVER AND DONE WITH. 

BY MARY W. STANLEY GIBSON. 

"And SO it is, that dearest friends must al- 
ways part, my dear Miss Margaret," said Ray- 
mond Stevens, with a gentle, ahnost tender 
smile, as he looked down at the young girl whose 
hand rested lightly on his arm, and whose face 
was averted, not in displeasure, but to hide the 
threatening tears. 

She did not answer. The light, careless tone 
struck harshly on her sensitive ear, and again, 
perhaps for the thousandth time since their in- 
timacy of a year, she recognized with a sigh the 
fact that what was to her a matter of life and 
death was but the passing pang of an idle mo- 
ment, so far as he was concerned. 

Oh, why was it so ? Why had this brilliant, 
ambitious man, with his stately form, face of 
classic beauty, voice of perfect melody, and 
mind, heart, and soul touched with the living 
fire of genius and power — why had he crossed 
her path, if only to dazzle and win, and then 
forsake and leave her forever? Better that she 
had never gazed with entranced, admiring eyes 
upon the beauty of that face and form — better 
that the bevrildering blue eyes had never met 
her own — better that the proud, curved lips — 
ah, they were pressed upon her hand at that 
mornent before her father's door, in one long, 
lingering kiss, and then he turned to go. 

"Oh, is it farewell ! is it farewell forever?" 
she cried, forgetting all restraint in the agony 
of her pain, and clinging to his hand as if she 
could never, never let it go again. 

" I fear so — I suppose it must be," he answer- 
ed with a thrill of pity as he looked down at her 
pale, wild face. " Let me go, Margaret. It is 
best for both — we should both get into trouble 
if I should stay. Good bye, dear — be happy, 
and forget me !" 

He pressed her hand — he murmured some- 
thing in a hurried, inaudible voice, and bent 
down as if about to kiss her. Then suddenly 
recollecting himself he drew back, and hiirried 
down the garden path, leaving her standing 
there on the porch beneath the moonlight, des- 
olate, heart-broken, and alone. 

What else could he do ? She was poor, and 
so was he. Fame and fortune awaited him in 
the great city, and he went thither to win the 
one by his talents, and to take possession of the 
other in the shape of a rich bride, thirteen 
years his senior. Was he obliged to sacrifice his 
future because a pair of soft, dark, grey eyes 
had looked at him admiringly for a year past, 
and were gazing wistfully through tears after 
him now ? 

"It would never do. I should be mad to 
think of it," said Raymond Stevens, as he lit 
his cigar and hurried toward the train. " Poor 
little girl ! She will get over it soon and marry 
some one else. As for me, my future is marked 
out. I would not alter it if I could ! Thank 



Heaven that that is all over and done with ! I 
have been dreading this parting for a week or 
more. " 

"Over and done with !" Was it really so ? 

His prophecy came true in one sense of the 
word, for, within six months after his depart- 
ure, Margaret became the wife of a city million- 
aire, and entered a home of luxury and splen- 
dor, such as she had never dreamed of in her 
girlhood. Luxury ! splendor ! Alas ! in those 
days she had asked but for love ; and that de- 
nied her, she sold herself to the highest bidder, 
and flung herself into the vortex of fashionable 
society with an eagerness and abandon which 
gave, to an observing eye, a hint of the empty 
chambers in that lonely, aching heart. 

What is she now ? In the fullest and deep- 
est, and — shall I say ? — lowest sense of the 
word, she is a fashionable woman. Society is 
her master. Fashion is her god, and Dress her 
idol. She lives, and breathes, and moves and 
has her being in nothing better or higher than 
the Magazines des Modes ; and the cut of a 
trimming, the set of a satin fold, seem — if one 
may judge by her actions — of far greater impor- 
tance in her eyes than the salvation of her im- 
mortal soul !' 

On this wreck of what was once pure, and 
good and lovely, Raymond Stevens glances now 
and then with a saddened, sarcastic eye. "How 
she has changed and deteriorated " he says to 
himself, between a smile and a sneer. "The 
woman is a walking fashion-book, and nothing 
else !" 

Aye ; but who made her ? and who, in the 
first place, was responsible for the flaw v/ithin 
this once priceless and beautiful gem ? 

" Over and done with !'' No ; for as a stone 
cast into a still pond of water sinks at once to 
the bottom, but leaves circle after circle widen- 
ing on the surface all the while, so do our ac- 
tions, even when ended, widen out into circles 
of influence that sometimes save and sometimes 
spoil another life than ours. It is difficult to 
say how soon the waters that we have stirred 
shall be at peace again, and only God can tell 
when the act and its consequences shall be real- 
ly "over and done with," and the influences 
which we have exercised, almost unconsciously, 
be forever at an end. — N. Y. Ledger. 



WORDS OF WISDOM. 

This is what Peter Cooper said to the gradu- 
ates and students of the Cooper Union : 

While yet a child I learned that "The hand 
of the diligent maketh rich," and whatever of 
wealth I have achieved has been due, primarily, 
to habits of patient industry formed at the out- 
set of my career, t soon learned that ' ' Waste 
makes want," and I therefore saved what I earn- 
ed ; and by "taking stitches in time," guarded 
against the loss which unavoidably attends up- 
on neglect and want of foresight. It did not 



36 



YOUNG MEN S DEPARTMENT. 



take long for me to learn that drunkenness was 
the parent of the larger portion of the poverty, 
vice and crime which afflict the American peo- 
ple ; and hence, until advancing age seemed to 
demand moderate stimulants, I carefully avoid- 
ed alcoholic liquids as the greatest curse of the 
young, and the most deadly foe to domestic hap- 
piness and the public welfare. 

Next, I observed that most of the shipwrecks 
of life were due to debts hastily contracted, and 
out of proportion, to the means of the debtor; 
and hence I always avoided debt, and endeav- 
ored to keep some ready money on hand to avail 
of a favorable opportunity for its profitable use. 
With economy and industry it is easy to do this 
in this favored land ; and in my case the result 
has been that amid all the financial revulsions 
through which I have passed, no obligation of 
mine has ever been a day in arrear. Debt is a 
slavery which everyyoung man ought to avoid, or, 
if assumed, ought not to endure for one day be- 
yond the shortest time necessary to set him free. 
Shunning intemperance and debt, it was easy to 
be honest, and to acquire such knowledge as the 
opportunities of this city afforded in the days of 
my youth. Love and duty I have ever found to 
be the password of all that is true, and when 
they are separated the fire dies out, and life 
loses all its charms, never to be compensate 1 by 
the false jewels which are often worn in the 
public gaze. These are, indeed, simple truths, 
which I have endeavored to set forth in words 
equally simple, because I feel sure, from a very 
long experience, that they do good to every 
young man and young woman who will firmly 
resolve to make them the rule of life ; and be- 
cause I began life without means, and know the 
truth of what I affirm. 



Sir Walter Scott's Advice to his Son. — 
" I cannot too much impress upon your mind 
that labor is the condition which God has im- 
posed on us in every station in life. There is 
nothing worth having that can be had without 
it, from the bread which the peasant wins with 
the sweat of his brow to the sports by which the 
rich man must get rid of his ennui. The only 
difference between them is that a poor man la- 



bors to get a dinner for his appetite — the rich 
man to get an appetite for his dinner. As for 
knowledge, it can no more be planted in the 
human mind without labor than the field of 
wheat can be produced without the previous use 
of the plow. There is, indeed, this difi'erence, 
that change of circumstances may so cause it 
that another shall reap what the former sows ; 
but no man can be deprived, whether by acci- 
dent or misfortune, of the fruits of his own stu- 
dies, and the liberal and extended acquisitions 
of knowledge are all for his own use. Labor, 
my dear boy, therefore, and improve the time. 
In youth our steps are light and ductile, and 
knowledge is easily laid up. But if we neglect 
our Spring, our Summer will be useless and con- 
temptible, our harvest will be chaff, and the 
Winter of old age unrespected and desolate." 



FEMALE SOCIETY. 

It is better for you to pass an evening once or 
twice a week in a lady's drawing-room, even 
though the conversation is slow and you know 
the girl's song by heart, than in a club, a tav- 
ern, or a pit of a theatre. All amusements of 
youth to which virtuous women are not admit- 
ted, rely upon it, are deleterious in their nature. 
All men who avoid female society have dull per- 
ceptions, and are stupid, or have gross tastes, 
and revolt against what is pure. Your club 
swaggerers, who are sucking the buts of billiard 
cues all night, call female society insijud. Poe- 
try is uninspiring to a jockey; beauty has no 
charms for a blind man ; music does not please 
a poor beast who does not know one tune from 
another ; but as a pure epicure is hardly tired 
of water-sauces, and brown bread and butter, 
I protest lean sit for a whole night talking with 
a well-regulated kindly woman about her girl 
Fanny, or her boy Frank, and like the evening's 
entertainment. One of the great benefits a man 
may derive from a woman's society is that he 
is bound to be respectful to her. The habit is 
of great good to your moral man, depend upon 
it. Our education makes us the most eminent- 
ly selfish men in the world. — Thackeray. 



TEMPERANCE DEPARTMENT. 



— O-jMaT^ 3V=»>«J>=:5-P 



THE EOY WHO WOULD KOT DRINK. 

BY C4E0RGE W. BUNGAY. 

[Vice-President Henry Wilson, when a mere 
lad; promised his mother that he would never 
drink wine or any other kind of intoxicating 
drinks.] 

Kneeling at his fond mother's knee, 
He pledged his honor to be free 
From vicious habits that enslave 
Alike the timid and the brave. 

Through all the changes of his youth 
He leaned upon the staff of truth ; 
It was his weapon of defense 
With which he drove temptation hence. 

When older grown and in his prime, 
He scorned the custom of his time 
And yielded not at fashion's shrine, 
But kept his pledge to drink no wine. 

When honor crowned his honest brow, 
And on his head had fallen snow 
That never melts, he turned away 
From paths that always lead astray. 

And, unashamed of abstinence, 
He voiced his thought in eloquence, 
And stood up bravely for the right, 
And came off victor in the fight. 

No poison in his pulsing veins. 
His limbs unfettered with the chains 
Of drinking habits that enslave ; 
He was a freeman, just and brave. 

He starred his life with noble deeds 
That blossom now, like hidden seeds, 
And fill the air with odors sweet 
As air where buds of roses meet. 



We are of opinion that the use of alcoholic 
liquor as beverage is productive of a large 
amount of physical disease, and that it entails 
diseased appetites upon offspring. — [Declaration 
signed by two hundred leading physicians of 
New York and Brooklyn.] 

Nor the effeminate, nor liars with mankind, 
nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor 
railers, nor extortioners shall possess the king- 
dom of God.— St. Paul. 



ONE GLASS OF WINE. 

The Duke of Orleans, the oldest son of King 
Louis Philippe, was the inheritor of whatever 
rights the royal family could transmit. He was 
a noble young man, physically and intellectually 
noble. One morning he invited a few compan- 
ions with him as he was about to take his de- 
parture from Paris to join his regiment. In the 
conviviality of the hour he drank too much wine. 
He did not become intoxicated ; he was not in 
any respect a dissipated man. His character 
was lofty and noble. But in that joyous hour 
he drank a glass too much. He lost the balance 
of his body and his mind. Bidding adieu to his 
companions, he entered the carriage. But for 
that extra glass he would have kept his seat. 
He leaped from the carriage. But for that ex- 
tra glass of wine he would have alighted on his 
feet. His head struck the pavement. Senseless, 
bleeding, he was taken into a beer-shop and died. 
That extra glass of wine overthrew the Orleans 
dynasty, confiscated their property of one hun- 
dred nullions of dollars, and sent the whole fam- 
ily into exile. 



MODERATE DRINKING. 

Rev. William Goodell thus declares in refer- 
ence to the varioiis shades of drinking : " Which 
is most destructive of health and life, drunken- 
ness or moderate drinking ? But what are the 
facts ? A man may get as drunk as some do 
once a month, vomit out the poison, sleep off 
the effects and be sober all the rest of the 
month, drinking nothing till the fit comes on. 
again. Such a man may do more business, do 
it better, preserve better health and live longer 
than the "moderate" drinker, who never gets 
drunk, never vomits out the poison — keeps it 
within him, adding a little to it daily till it un- 
dermines his constitution, so that he readily 
falls a prey to all manner of diseases, without 
vitality enough to recover from them. He dies 
a ' moderate ' drinker, never suspected of in- 
temperance, much less ranked among the drunk- 
ards, yet losing his life in consequence of his 
' moderate ' drinking. Scientific and experi- 
enced physicians entertain these views, and are 
of opinion that more than half of those who die 
in consequence of drinking alcoholic liquors die 
before they become confirmed and downright 
drunkards." 



3S 



TEMPERANCE DEPARTMENT. 



GOUGH'S APOSTROPHE TO WATER. 

The celebrated apostrophe to water, given in 
one of Gongh's temperance lectures, is a gem. 
Pouring a glass of water, and advancing to- 
ward his audience, and lifting it above hia 
head, he said : 

"Look at that, ye thirsty sons of earth ! 
Behold it ! See its purity ! How it glitters as if 
a mass of liquid gems ! It is a beverage that 
was brewed by the hand of the Almighty Him- 
self ! Not in simmering still, or smoking fires, 
choked with poisonous gases, and surrounded 
by the stench of sickening odors and rank cor- 
ruption, does our Father in heaven prepare the 
precious essence of life, the pure cold water, 
but in the green glade, and grassy dell, where 
the deer wanders and the cliild loves to play ; 
there God brews it ; and down in the deepest 
valley, where the fountains murmur and the 
rills sing, and high upon the tall mountain-tops, 
wliere the storm-clouds brood and the thunders 
crash, and away far out on the wide sea, where 
the hurricane howls music, and the big waves 
roll the chorus, sweeping the march of God, 
there he brews it— that beverage of health-giv- 
ing water — and everywhere it is a thing of beau- 
ty ; glimmering in the Summer rain, shining in 
the ice-gem, till the trees all seem turned into 
Jiving jewels ; spreading a golden veil over the 
setting sun, or a white gauze around the mid- 
night moon ; sporting in the cataract, sleep- 
ing in the glaciers, dancing in the hail-showers ; 
folding its soft curtain softly about the windy 
world and weaving the many-colored iris — that 
is, erpha's zone of the sky, whose warp is the 
rain-drop of the earth, whose woof is the sun- 
beam of heaven ; all checkered over with celes- 
tial flowers, by the mystic hand of reflection, 
still always it is beautiful, that blessed life- 
water. No poison bubbles on the brink ; its 
foam brings no sadness or murder ; no blood 
stains its limpid glass ; broken-hearted wives 
and starving orphans shed no tears in its depths; 
no drunk and shrieking ghost from the grave 
curses it in words of eternal despair. Beauti- 
ful, pure, blessed, and glorious, give me forever 
the pure, sparkling cold water. '' 



" I DO in my conscience believe that intoxicat- 
ing stimulants have sunk into perdition more 
men and women than found grave in that deluge 
which swept over the highest hilltops, engulfing 
a world, of which but eight were saved. " — Rev. 
Dr. Guthrie. 

"Everything has its use," said a philosoph- 
ical professor to his class. " Of what use is a 
drunkard's fiery red nose ? " asked one of his 
pupils. " It's a lighthouse," answered the pro- 
fessor, "to warn us of the little water that 
passes underneath it, and reminds us of the 
shoals of appetite, on which we might otherwise 
be wrecked." 



LICENSED TO DO WHAT T 

Licensed — to make the strong man weak. 
Licensed — to lay the wise man low, 

Licensed — a wife's fond heart to break, 
And make her children's tears to flow. 

Licensed — to do thy neighbor harm, 
Licensed to kindle hate and strife, 

Licensed — to nerve the robber's arm. 
Licensed to whet the murderer's knife. 

Licensed — thy neighbor's purse to drain. 

And on his soul a shadow cast ; 
Licensed — to heat his feverish brain. 

Till madness crown thy work at last. 

Licensed — like a spider for a fly, 

To spread thy nets for man, thy prey ; 

To mock his struggles, suck him dry. 
Then cast the worthless hulk away. 

Licensed — where peace and quiet dwell, 
To bring disease, and want, and woe ; 

Licensed — to make this world a hell. 
And ft man for a hell below. 

— John Pie.rpont. 

THE SIN OF THE DRUNKARD. 

The literal truth of the awful announcement 
that God will visit the " iniquities of the fa- 
thers upon the children, unto the third and 
fourth generation " is startling beyond the help 
of fancy when human lives illustrate it. 

The sins of the drunkard seem, indeed, to be 
visited upon his children with startling direct- 
ness. An eminent French surgeon took the 
trouble lately to inquire into the history and 
ancestry of a youth who had been admitted into 
an asylum under peculiarly sad circumstances, 
and this was the result : 

First generation — Depravity and drink ; 
grandfather killed in a drunken brawl. 

Second generation — Hereditary drunkenness, 
maniacal attacks, ending in general paralysis in 
grandfather. 

Third generation — Sobriety, but hypochondri- 
acal tendencies, delusion and homicidal tenden- 
cies in the father. 

Fourth generation — Defective intelligence. 
First attack of mania at sixteen, thence transi- 
tion to complete idiocy. His two sisters be- 
came imbecile, but his mother's child by an 
other man was sound. 



The Bar-Room as a Bank.— You deposit 
your money — and lose it. Your time — and 
lose it. Your character — and lose it. Your 
health — and lose it. Your strength — and lose 
it. Your manly independence — and lose it. 
Your self-control — and lose it. Your home 
comfort — and lose it. Your wife's happiness — 
and lose it. Your children's happiness — and 
lose it. Your own soul — and lose it. Keep 
away from that bank. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



39 



WHO IS SHE' 



BY MARIAN DOUGLASS. 

There is a little maiden — 
Who is she? Do you know? 

Who always has a welcome, 
Wherever she may go. 

Her face is like the May -time, 

Her voice is like a bii-d's ; 
The sweetest of all music 

Is in her lightsome words. 

The loveliest of blossoms 

Spring where her light foot treads, 
And most delicious odors 

She all around her sheds — 

The breath of purple clover 

Upon the breezy hills ; 
The smell of garden roses 

And yellow daffodils. 

Each spot she makes the brighter, 

As if she were the sun, 
And she is sought and cherished 

And loved by every one : 

By old folks and by children, 

By lofty and by low. 
Who is this little maiden ? 

Does any body know ? 

You surely must have met her ! 

You certainly can guess. 
What ! must I introduce her ? 

Her name is Cheerfulness. 



Last Will and Testament of a Drunk- 
ard. — ^I die a wretched sinner, and leave to 
the world a worthless reputation, a wicked ex- 
ample, and a memory that is only lit to perish. 
I leave to my parents sorrow and bitterness of 
soul all the days of their lives. I leave to my 
brothers and sisters shame and grief, and the 
reproach of their acquaintances. I leave my 
wife widowed and heart-broken, and a life of 
lonely struggling with want and suffering. I 
leave my children a tainted name and a ruined 
position, a pitiful ignorance, and the mortifying 
recollection of a father who, by his life, dis- 
gi-aced humanity, and at his premature death 
joined the great company of those who are 
never to enter the kingdom of God. 



Rum and Death. — For every liquor dealer in 
this country on an average there is a death from 
rum; 61,265 dealers, 61,265 victims every year 
down to drunkards' graves. So that the man 
that has been in the business ten years may be 
supposed to be guilty of ten murders. 



WHAT A PALL. 

A minister of the gospel told me, in 1847, 
one of the most thrilling incidents I ever heard 
in my life. A member of his congregation 
came home, for the first time in his life, intoxi- 
cated, and his boy met him upon the door-step, 
clapping his hands and exclaiming, " Papa has 
come home." He seized that boy^by the shoulder, 
swung him around, staggered, and fell in the 
hall. Tliat minister said to me (I could give 
you his name if necessary) : "I spent that 
night in that house. I went out and bared my 
brow that the night air might fall upon it and 
cool it ; I walked up and down the hall. There 
was his child dead; there was his wife in strong 
convulsions, and he asleep. A man but thirty- 
five years of age asleep with a dead child in 
the house, having a blue mark upon the temple 
where the corner of the marble steps had come 
in contact with the head as he swung him 
round, and a wife upon the very brink of the 
grave! "Mr. Gough," said my friend, "I 
cursed the drink. He told me I must remain 
till he awoke, and I did. When he awoke he 
passed his hand over his face, and exclaimed: 
' What is the matter ? where am I ? where 
is my boy ? ' ' You cannot see him. ' ' Where 
is my boy ? ' he inquired. ' You cannot 
see him. ' ' Stand out of my way. I will 
see my boy ! ' To prevent confusion I took 
him to the child's bedside, and as I turned 
down the sheet and showed him the corpse, he 
uttered a shriek, ' Ah ! my child ! ' That min- 
ister said further to me : " One year after that 
he was brought from a lunatic asylum to lie 
side by side with his wife in one grave, and I 
attended his funeral." The minister of the 
gospel who told me that fact is, to-day, a drunk- 
en hostler in a stable in Boston ! Now tell me 
what drink will do. It will debase, degrade, 
imbrute and damn everything that is noble, 
bright, glorious, and god-like in a human be- 
ing. There is nothing drink will not do that 
is vile, dastardly, cowartlly, sneaking or hellish. 
We are united, brethren, are we not, to fight it 
till the day of our death ? — Jolin B. Gough. 

REFUSING TO DRINK WITH WASHING- 
TON. 

Toward the close of the Revolutionary war, 
says Dr. Cox, an officer dined with Washington. 
Just before the dinner was concluded General 
Washington stood up and called him by name, 
and requested him to drink a glass of wine with 
him. 

"Will you have the goodness to excuse me, 
General?" replied the officer. "I have made 
it a rule never to take wine." 

All eyes were instantly ti;rned upon the young 
officer, and a murmur of surprise and indigna- 
tion ran around the table. That a person 
shduld be so unsocial and so mean as never to 
drink wine was really too bad ; but that he 



40 



TEMPERANCE DEPARTMENT. 



should abatai* from it on an occasion like that, 
and even when offered to him by Washington 
himself, was perfectly intolerable ! 

Washiugtoii at once saw the feelings of his 
guests, and promptly addressed them : 

"Gentlemen," said he, "our friend is rigid. 
I do not wish any of my guests to partake of 
any thing against their inclination, and I cer- 
tainly do not wish tnem to violate any estab- 
lished principle in their social intercourse with 
me. / honor my friend for his frankness, for 
his consistency in thus adhering to an established 
rule ivhich can never do him harm, and for the 
adoption of which, I have no doubt, he has 
good and sufficient reason." 



THE 



RUMSELLER'S PROPOSAL TO THE 
DEVIL. 



Dabr Sir : — I have opened apartments, fitted 
up with all the enticements of luxury, for the 
sale of rum, brandy, gin, wine, beer, and all 
their compounds. Our objects, though different, 
can be best attained by united action. I, there- 
fore, propose a copartnership. All I want of 
men is their money. All else shall be yours. 

Bring me the industrious, the sober, the re- 
spectable, and I will return them to you drunk- 
ards, paupers and beggars. 

Bring the child, and 1 will dash to earth the 
dearest hopes of the father and mother. 

Bring me the father and the mother, and I 
will plant discord between thera, and make them 
a curse and a reproach to their children. 

Bring me the young man, and I will ruin his 
character, destroy his health, shorten his life, 
and blot out the highest and purest hopes of 
youth. 

Bring me the mechanic or the laborer, and his 
own money, the hard-earned fruits of his toil, 
shall be made to bring poverty, vice and igno- 
rance to his once happy home. 

Bring me the warm-hearted sailor, and I will 
send him on a lee shore and make shipwreck of 
all fond hopes forever. 

Bring me the professed follower of Christ, and 
I will blight and wither every devotional feeling 
of his heart. I will corrupt the ministers of 
religion, and defile the purity of the church. 

Bring me the patronage of the city and of the 
courts of justice; let the magistrates of the State 
and the Union become my patrons ; let the law- 
makers themselves meet at my table and partic- 
ipate in violations of law ; and the name of law 
shall become a hissing and a by-word in the 
streets. 

Bring me, above all, the moral, respectable 
man. If possible, bring the moderate temper- 
ance man ; though he may not drink, yet his 
presence will countenance the pretexts under 
which our business must be masked. Bring him 
to our stores, oyster-saloons, eating-houses and 
hotels, and the more timid of our victims will 
then enter without alarm. 



THERE 'S ANOTHER SOUL GONE. 

BY ELLA WHEELER. 

^ "George D. Prentice died at Louisville, 
on the 22d day of March, 1870, from the ef- 
fect of strong drink." — N. W. Advance. 

There's another grand soul 
Cut down by the scythe that King Alcohol swings; 

And the fiend of the bowl 
A song of rejoicing and merriment sings. 

Such a masterful mind ! 
To be drowned and dethroned by the demon 
Drink's hand. 
No wonder, wind! 
That your song is a wail as you speed o'er the 
land. 

A king of the earth ! 
But his masterful intellect crowned him, not man. 

Do you know his mind's worth ? 
Then behold it, and show me his peer if you can. 

Poet, satirist, wit-^- 
Tliree gems from the crown that his intellect 
made. 
God formed hin:i to sit 
On the high mountain-tops, wTiere but few feet 
have strayed. 

Was there no hand to save ? 
Was there no one to lift up this beautiful soul 

From the gloom of the grave, 
And defeat the dark fiend of the maddening 
bowl ? 

women ! men ! 
Can we sit idly down and let this work go on ? 

Up, soldiers, again ? 
Hear you not the war-cry? "There's another 
soul gone ! " 
— National Temperance Advocate. 



TEMPERANCE IN THE BIBLE. 

1 . AVho was the first drunkard ? Gen. ix. 20, 
21. 

2. Who took the first temperance pledge ? 
Judges xiii. 13, 14. 

3. Did anybody mentioned in the Bible ever 
take the pledge of his own accord ? Dan. i. 8. 

4. Was he any healthier or wiser in conse- 
quence ? Dan. i. 15-17. 

5. Ought kings to drink wine ? Prov. xxxi. 4. 

6. Ought ministers to drink wine? Lev. viii. 9. 

7. Ought we to make companions of drunk- 
ards? 1 Cor. V. 11. 

8. Can any drunkard enter the kingdom of 
heaven ? 1 Cor. vi. 9, 10. 

9. Does God pronounce any woe upon drunk- 
ards? Isa. V. 11-22. 

10. Why has he pronounced this woe ? Isa.. 
xxviii. 7, 8. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



41 



11. Are drunkards likely to get rich ? Pro v. 
xxi. 17. 

12. What are the consequences of drinking? 
Prov. xxiii. 29, 30. 

13. How may we avoid the consequences? 
Prov. xxiii. 31. 

14. What will be the result if we disregard 
this advice ? Prov. xxiii. 32. 

15. Is it wise to tamper with strong drink ? 
Prov. XX. 1. 

16. Where was the first temperance society ? 
Jer. XXXV. 6-8. 

17. What blessing did God pronounce upon 
the first temperance society ? Jer. xxxv. 18, 19. 

18. Is intemperance a vice? Gal. v. 21. 

19. When is temperance a virtue ? Gal. v. 22. 

20. Is there anything in the Bible that covers 
all intemperate habits ? Eom. xiv. 21. — Youth's 
T£Viperance Bcmnei: 



AN" ANGEL IN A SALOOK 

One afternoon in the month of June, a lady 
in deep mourning, followed by a little child, en- 
tered one of the fashionable saloons in the city 
of N . The writer happened to be pass- 
ing at the time, and, prompted by curiosity, 
followed her in to see what would ensue. Stejj- 
ping up to the bar, and addressing the propri- 
etor, she said : 

' ' Sir, can you assist me ? I have no home, 
no friends, and am not able to work. " 

He glanced at her, and then at the child, with 
a mingled look of curiosity and pity. Evident- 
ly he was much surprised to see a woman in 
such a place begging ; but, without asking any 
questions, gave her some change, and, turning 
to those present, he said : 

' ' Gentlemen, here is a lady in distress. 
Can 't some of you help her a little ?" 

They cheerfully acceded to the request, and 
soon a purse of two dollars was made up and 
put in her hand. 

"Madam," said the gentleman who gave her 
the money, ' ' why do you come to a saloon ? It 
is n't a proper place for a lady, and why are 
you driven to such a step ?" 

"Sir," said the lady, "I know it isn't a 
proper place for a lady to be in, and you ask me 
why I am driven to such a step ? I will tell 
you in one short word," pointing to a bottle 
labeled " whisky " — "that is what brought me 
here — whisky. I was once happy and surround- 
ed by all the luxuries wealth could procure, 
with a fond, indulgent husband. But in an 
evil hour he was tempted, and not possessing 
the will to resist the temptation, fell, and in 
one short year my dream of happiness was over, 
my home was forever desolate, and the wealth 
that some called mine, lost — lost never to return, 
and all by the accursed wine cup. You see be- 
fore you only the wreck of my former self, 
homeless and friendless, with nothing left me 
in this world but this little child, " and weeping 



bitterly, she affectionately caressed the golden 
curls that shaded a face of exquisite loveliness. 
Regaining her composure, and turning to the 
proprietor of the saloon, she continued : 

' ' Sir, the reason why I occasionally enter a 
place like this is to implore those who deal in 
the deadly poison to desist, to stop a business 
that spreads desolation, ruin, poverty, and star- 
vation. Think one moment of your own loved 
ones, and then imagine the situation I am in. 
I appeal to your better nature, I appeal to your 
heart, for I know you possess a kind one, to re- 
tire from a business so ruinous to your patrons. 
Do you know the money you take across the 
bar is the same thing as the bread out of the 
mouths of the famished wives and children of 
your customers ? That it strips the clothing 
from their backs, deprives them of all the com- 
forts of this life, and throws unhappiness, mis- 
ery, crime, and desolation into their once hap- 
py homes ? Oh ! sir, I implore, beseech, and 
j)ray you to retire from a business you blush to 
own you are engaged in before your fellow-men, 
and enter one that will not only be profitable 
to yourself, but your fellow-creatures also. You 
will excuse me if I have sjioken too plainly, but 
I could not help it when I thought of the un- 
happiness and the suffering it has caused me." 

' ' Madam, I am not offended, " he answered in 
a voice husky v/ith emotion, "but I thank you 
from the bottom of my heart for what you have 
said." 

"Mamma," said the little girl, who, mean- 
time, had been spoken to by some of the gentle- 
men present, taking hold of her mother's hand, 
' ' These gentlemen want me to sing * Little 
Bessie ' for them. Shall I do so ?" 

They all joined in the request, and, placing 
her in a chair, she sang, in a sweet, childish 
voice, the following beautiful song : 

' ' Out in the gloomy night sadly I roam, 
I have no mother dear, no pleasant home ; 
No one cares for me, no one would cry, 
Even if poor little Bessie should die. 
Weary and tired I 've wandered all day. 
Asking for work, but I 'm too small, they say ; 
On the damp ground I must now lay my head ; 
Father's a drunkard and mother is dead. 

" We Avere so happy till father drank rum. 
Then all our sorrow and trouble begun ; 
Mother grew pale and wept every day, 
Baby and I were too hungry to play ; 
Slowly they faded till one Summer night. 
Found their dead faces all silent and white ; 
Then, with big tears slowly dropping, I said. 
Father's a drunkard and mother is dead. 

* ' Oh ! if the temperance men only could find 
Poor wretched father, and talk very kind ; 
If they could stop him from drinking, then 
I should be so very happy again ; 
Is it too late, temperance men ? Please try. 
Or poor little Bessie must soon starve and die ; 
All day long I 've been begging for bread, 
Father's a drunkard and mother is dead." 



42 



TEMPERANCE DEPARTMENT. 



The game of billiards was left unfinished, the 
cards thrown aside, and the unemptied glass re- 
mained on the counter ; all had pressed near, 
some with pity - beaming eyes, entranced with 
the musical voice and beauty of the child, who 
seemed better fitted to be with the angels above 
than in such a place. 

The scene I shall never forget to my dying 
day, and the sweet cadence of her musical voice 
still rings in my ears, and every word of the 
song as it dropped from her lips sank deep into 
the hearts of those who gathered around her. 

With her golden hair falling carelessly around 
her shoulders, and looking so trustingly and 
confidingly upon the gentlemen around her, her 
beautiful eyes illuminated with a light that 
seemed not of this earth, she formed a picture 
of purity and innocence worthy of the genius 
of a poet or a painter. 

At the close of the song many were weeping ; 
men who had not shed a tear for years now wept 
like children. One young man, who had resist- 
ed with scorn the pleadings of a loving mother, 
and the entreaties of friends, to strive to lead 
a better life, to desist from a course that Avas 
wasting his fortune and ruining his health, now 
approached the child, and, taking both her 
hands in his, while tears streamed down his 
cheek, exclaimed, with deep emotion: ' 

"Grod bless you, my little angel. You have 
saved me from ruin and disgrace, from poverty 
and a drunkard's grave. If there are angels on 
earth, you are one ! God bless you ! God bless 
you ! " and putting a note into the mother's 
hand, said — 

" Please accept this trifle as a token of my 
regard and esteem, for your little girl has done 
me a kindness I can never repay ; and, remem- 
ber, whenever you are in want, you will find 
me a true friend," at the same time giving her 
his name and address. Taking her child by the 
hand, she started to go, but, pausing at the 
door said : 

"God bless you, gentlemen! Accept the 
heartfelt thanks of a poor, friendless woman 
for the kindness and courtesy you have shown 
her." 

Before any one replied she was gone. A si- 
lence of several minutes ensued, which was 
broken by the proprietor, who exclaimed : 

" Gentlemen, that lady was right, and I have 
sold my last glass of whisky ; if any of you 
want any more you will have to go elsewhere. " 
' ' And I have drunk my last glass of whisky, " 
said a young man who had long been given up by 
those who had a deep interest in his welfare, as 
sunk too low ever to reform. — Household Ad- 
vocate. 



Oh, that men should piit an enemy in 
Their mouths to steal away their brains that we! 
Should, with joy, pleasure, revel and applause, 
Transform ourselves to beasts ! 

— Shakspeare. 



THE DRUNKARD'S DAUGHTER. 

This poem was written by a young lady 
whose life had been made wretched by a drunk- 
ard father. She wrote and sent it to a friend, 
who had told her that he was a "monomaniac " 
in her bitter hatred of the deadly cup. 

Go, feel what I have felt. 

Go, bear what I have borne — 
Sink 'neath the blow a father dealt, 

And the cold, proud world's scorn. 
Thus struggle on from year to year. 
Thy sole relief the scalding tear. 

Go, weep as I have wept. 

O'er a loved father's fall, 
See every cherished promise swept, 

Youth's sweetness turned to gall ; 
Hope's faded flowers strewed all the way 
That led me up to woman's day. 

Go, kneel as I have knelt, 

Implore, beseech and pray. 
Strive the besotted heart to melt, 

The downward course to stay — 
Be cast, with bitter tears, aside, 
Thy prayers burlesqued, thj^ tears defied. 

Go, stand where I have stood, 

And see the strong man bow 
With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood. 

And cold and livid brow ; 
Go, watch his wandering glance, and see 
There mirrored his soul's misery. 

Go, hear what I have heard, 

The sobs of sad despair, 
As memory's feeling fount hath stirred, 

And its revealings there 
Have told him what he might have been. 
Had he the drunkard's fate foreseen. 

Go to thy mother's side. 

And her crushed bosom cheer — 
Thine own deep anguish hide — 

Wipe from her cheek the bitter tear. 
Mark her dimmed eye, her furrowed brow. 
The gray that streaks her dark hair now, 
Her toil-worn frame, her trembling limb, 
And trace her ruin back to him 
Whose plighted faith, in early youth 
Promised eternal love and truth — 
But who, foresworn, hath yielded up 
This promise to the deadly cup. 
And led down from love and light. 
For all that made her pathway bright. 
And chained her there 'mid want and strife, 
That lowly thing — a Drunkard's Wife, 
And stamped on childhood's brow, so mild, 
That withering blight — a Drunkard's Child. 

Go, hear, and see, and feel, and know 
All that my soul has felt and known. 

Then look upon the wine cup's glow. 
See if its brightness can atone. 

Think if its flavor you would try. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



If all proclaimed: — " 'Tis drink and die !' 
Tell me I hate the bowl ! 

Hate is a feeble word — 
I loathe, abhor — my very soul 

With strong disgust is stirred, 
Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell 
Of the dark beverage.of Hell ! 



Making reflections on the faults of others 
is generally a fruitless thing; it is often 
attended with mistakes, and involves men 
in sin. When we find it so hard to amend 
ourselves, we may well esteem it a very 
unseemly thing with bitterness to inveigh 
against our brother. 



RELIGIOUS READING. 



J-S'VS*<S=^ JJ.J^,«=5^.;S>P 



OVER THE RIVER. 

Over the river they beckon to me, 

Loved ones who've crossed to the further 
side, 
The gleam of their snowy robes I see. 

But their voices are lost in the dashing tide. 
There's one with ringlets of sunny gold. 

And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue ; 
He crossed in the twilight, gray and cold, 

And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. 
We saw not the angels who met him there, 

The gates of the city we could not see, 
Over the river — over the river — 

My brother stands waiting to welcome me. 

Over the river the boatman pale 

Carried another, the household pet ; 
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale — ■ 

Darling Minnie ! I see her yet. 
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands. 

And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; 
We felt it glide from the silver sands, 

And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. 
We know she is safe, on the further side. 

Where all the ransomed and angels be ; 
Over the river — the mystic river — 

My childhood's idol is waiting for me. 

For none return from those quiet shores 

Who cross with the boatman cold and pale — 
We hear the dip of the golden oars. 

And catch a gleam of the snowy sail ; 
And lo ! they have passed from our yearning 
hearts. 

Who cross the stream, and are gone for aye. 
We may not sunder the vail apart. 

That hides from our vision the gates of day ; 
We only know that their barl* no more 

May sail with us over life's stormy sea ; 
Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, 

They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. 



And I sit and think when the sunset's gold 

Is flushing river, and hill, and shore, 
I shall one day stand by the water cold, 

And list for the sound of the boatman's oar ; 
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail, 

I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, 
I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale, 

To the better shore of the spirit land ;" 
I shall know the loved who have gone before ; 

And joyfully sweet will the meeting be. 
When over the river — the peaceful river — 
. The angel of death shall carry me. 

THE ETERNAL GOD. 

The following sublime ode to the Supreme Be- 
ing is translated from the Russian. It was, writ- 
ten by one of their most distinguished poets, 
Derzhauir. It is said to have been translated 
into Japanese, by order of the Emperor, and 
hung up, embroidered in gold, in the Temple of 
Jeddo. It has been translated also into the 
Chinese and Tartar languages, written on a piece 
of rich silk, and suspended in the imperial pal- 
ace at Pekin. 

thou Eternal One ! whose presence bright 
All space doth occupy — all motion guide ; 

Unchangedthrough Time's all devastating flight. 
Thou only God, there is no God beside. 

Being above all beings ! Mighty One ! 

Whom none can comprehend, and none ex- 
plore ! 

Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone ; 
Embracing all — supporting — ruling o'er — 
Being whom we call God — and know no more. 

In its sublime research. Philosophy 

jSIay measure out the ocean deep— may count 
The sands, or the sun's rays — but, God! for 
Thee 
There is no weight, nor measure — none can 
mount 



44 



RELIGIOUS READING. 



Up to Thy mysteries; reason's brightest spark, 
Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would 
try 
To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark ; 
And thought is lost, ere thought can soar so 

high, 
Ev'en like jjast moments in eternity. 

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call 

First chaos, then existence. Lord, on Thee 
Eternity had its foundation ; all 

Sprung forth from Thee ; of light, joy, har- 
mony. 
Sole origin, all life, all beauty. Thine ; 

Thy word created all and doth create, 
Thy si^lendor fills all space with rays Divine ; 

Thou art, and wert, and slialt be glorious ! 
great ! 

Life-giving, life-sustaining Potentate ! 

Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround ; 

Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath, 
Thou the beginning with the end hast boixnd. 

And beautifully mingled life and death. 
As sparks mount upward from the fiery blaze. 

So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from 
Thee, 
And as the s^iangles in the sunny rays. 

Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry 
Of Heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise. 

A million torches, lighted by Thy hand, 

Wander unwearied through the blue abyss ; 
They own Thy ]30wer, accomplish Thy com- 
mand. 
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss ; 
What shall we call them ? Piles of crystal 
light ? 
A glorioles company of golden streams ? 
Lamps of celestial ether, burning bright ? 

Suns, lighting systems with their joyous 
beams, 
But Thou to these art as the noon to night. 

Yes, as a drop of water in the sea. 
All this magnificence in Thee is lost — 

What are ten thousand worlds compared to 
Thee ? 
And what am I, when Heaven's unnumbered 
host. 

Though multiplied by myriads, and array'd 
In all the glory of sublimest thought, 

Is but an atom in the balance weighed 

Against Thy greatness • — is a cipher brought 
Against infinity ! What am I then ? — Naught. 

Naught — but the effluence of Thy light Divine, 

Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom 
too — 
Yes ! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine 

As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew : 
Naught ! but I live, and on hope's pinions fly 

Eager toward Thy presence ; for in Thee 
I live, and breathe, and dwell ; aspiring high, 

Even to the throne of Thy divinity. 

I am, God, and surely Thou must be ! 



Thou art ! directing, guiding all. Thou art, 

Direct my understanding, then, to Thee ; 
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart, 

Though but an atom 'midst immensity. 
Still I am something fashioned by Thy hand. 

I hold a middle rank, 'twixt heaven and earth, 
On the last verge of mortal being stand ; 

Close to the realm where angels have their 
birth, 
Just on the boundary of the spirit land. 

The chain of being is complete in me ; 

In me is matter's last gradation lost, 
And the next step in spirit — Deity ! 

I can command the lightning, and am dust ; 
A monarch, and a slave ; a worm, a god. 

Whence came I here, and how so marvelously 
Constructed and conceived unknown ? This clod 

Lives surely through some higher energy ; 

From out itself alone it could not be. 

Creator ! yes ! Thy wisdom and Thy word 
Created me. Thou source of life and good ! 
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord ! 
Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude. 
Filled me with an immortal soul to spring 
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear 
The garments of eternal day, and wing 
Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere, 
Even to its source — to Thee, its Author, Thee. 

Oh thought ineffable ! Oh vision blest ! 
(Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee 
Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast, 
And waft its homage to Thy Deity ? 
God ! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar, 
Thus seek Thy presence. Being wise and good, 
'Midst Thy vast works, admire, obey, adore, 
And, when the tongue is eloquent no more, 
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude . 



RETURNING HOME. 

Sweet to the morning traveler 

The skylark's' earliest song. 
Whose twinkling wings are seen at fits 

The dewy light among. 

And cheering to the traveler, 
The gales that round him play. 

When faint and wearily he drags 
Along his noontide way. 

And when beneath the unclouded sun 

Full wearily toils he, 
The flowing water makes to him 

Most pleasant melody. 

And when the evening light decays. 

And all is calm around, 
There is sweet music to his ear, 

In the distant sheep-bell's sound. 

And sweet the neighboring church-bell, 
That marks his journey's bourn ; 

But sweeter is the voice of love. 

That welcomes his return. — SOUTHBT. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



45 



THE OLD MAN IN THE STYLISH 
CHURCH. 

Well, wife, I've been to church to-day- — been 

to a stylish one — 
And seeing you can't go from home, I'll tell you 

what was done ; 
Y^ou would have been surprised to see what I 

saw there to-day ; 
The sisters were fixed up so fine they hardly 

bowed to pray. 

I had on these coarse clothes of mine — not much 

the worse for wear — , 
But, then, they know I wasn't one they call a 

millionaire ; 
So they led the old man to a seat away back by 

the door ; 
'Twas bookless and uncushioned, a reserved seat 

for the poor. 

Pretty soon in came a stranger with gold ring 

and clothing fine, 
They led him to a cushioned seat far in advance 

of mine ; 
I thought that was n't exactly right to seat him 

up so near. 
When he was young and I was old, and very 

hard to hear. 

But then, there's no accountin' for what some 
people do, 

The finest clothing nowadays, oft gets the finest 
pew ; 

But when we reach the blessed home, and unde- 
filed by sin, 

We'll see wealth begging at the gate, while pov- 
erty goes in. 

I couldn't hear the sermon, I sat so far awaj' ; 
So through the hours of service, I could only 

' ' watch and pray ; " 
Watch the doin's of the Christians sitting near 

me, round about ; 
Pray that God would make them pure within, 

as they were pure without. 

While I sat there, lookin' all around iipon the 

rich and great, 
I kept thinkin' of the rich man and the beggar 

at the gate ; 
How, by all but dogs forsaken, the poor beggar's 

form grew cold, 
And the angels bore his spirit to the mansions 

built of gold. 

How, at last the rich man perished, and his 
spirit took its flight, 

From the purple and fine linen, to the home of 
endless night ; 

There he learned, as he stood gazin' at the beg- 
gar in the sky, 

"It isn't all of life to live, nor all of death to 
die. " 



I doubt not there were wealthy sires iu that 

religious fold, 
Who went up from their dwellings like the 

Pharisee of old ; 
Then returned home from their worship with a 

head uplifted high. 
To spurn the hungry from their door with 

naught to satisfy. 

Out ! out ! with such professions ; they are do- 
ing more to-day 

To stop the weary sinner from the Gospel's shin- 
in' way 

Than all the books of infidels ; than all that has 
been tried 

Since Christ was born in Bethlehem — since 
Christ was crucified. 

How simple are the works of God, and yet how 

very grand — 
The shells in ocean caverns — the flowers on the 

land — 
He gilds the clouds of evenin' v/ith gold-light 

from His throne 
Not for the rich man only, nor for the poor alone. 

Then why should man look down on man be- 
cause of lack of gold ? 

Why seat him in the poorest pew because his 
clothes are old ? 

A heart with nobler motives — a heart that Cxod 
has blest — 

]May be beatin' heaven's music 'neath that faded 
coat and vest. 

I'm old — I may be childish — but I love simplic- 

I love to see it shinin' in a Christian's piety ; 
Jesus told us in His sermon, in Judea's mountain 

wild, 
He that wants to go to heaven must be like a 

little child. 

Our heads are growing gray, dear wife — cur 

hearts are beating slow — 
In a little while the Master will call for us to go ; 
When we reach the jDeariy gateways, and look 

in with joyful eyes. 
We'll see no stylish worship in the temple of the 

skies. 



Too True. — Dr. Lyman Beecher once said : 
"A great many professed Christians have no 
other idea of religion than that it is the means 
of getting to heaven when they die. As to do- 
ing anything for God while they live, it does 
not enter into their plans. I tell you, my 
brethren, I do not believe there is one in five 
hundred of such professors that will reach 
heaven ; for there is a magnanimity in true reli- 
gion that is above all such contemptible mean- 
ness." 



46 



RELIGIOUS READING. 



CHARLOTTE ELLIOTT. 

Charlotte Elliott, the author of " Just as I 
Am," who died in 1871, was the third daughter 
of Charles Elliott, Esq., of Claphani, England. 
Her uncle was the Rev. John Venn, rector of 
Clapham ; and her brothers were the Rev. H . 
V. Elliott, of Brighton, and the Rev. E. B. El- 
liott, author of " Hor£e ApocalypticEe. " From 
early years she was more or less an invalid, and 
consequently her life was one of much seclusion 
and suffering. Her conversion was throiTgh the 
Rev. Csesar Malan, of Geneva, and like him she 
was possessed of intense love for her Redeemer, 
and fervent zeal in His service. Though suffer- 
ing and much secluded, she was always planning 
or carrying out some work, with a view to glori- 
fy her Lord and Saviour. The following is from 
a volume of selections from her poems recently 
published in London : 

ON A EESTLESS NIGHT IN ILLNESS. 

My Saviour ! what bright beam is shed 
Around my dark and suffering bed, 
Though downy slumbers thence have fled ? 
It is Thy peace. 

When the sad fear of future ills 
My trembling heart with sorrow fills, 
What balm sweet quietude instills ? 
It is Thy peace. 

When awful thoughts of death's dark hour 
Like gathering clouds around us lower, 
What to dispel them all has power ? 
It is Thy peace. 

When weary night and lonesome day 
Cast mournful shadows o'er my way, 
What then becomes my staff, my stay ? 
It is Thy peace. 

If suffering be my lot below, 
Lord ! till my tears shall cease to flow, 
In life, in death, one boon bestow, 
It is Thy peace. 

— Christian World. 



The Hour op Trial. — Colonel Ethan Allen, 
of Vermont, openly rejected the Christian reli- 
gion, and wrote a work against it. But how 
little faith he possessed in his own principles, 
when put to the test, will be seen from a fact 
related by Dr. Dwight : While the colonel was 
engaged in reading some of his own writings to 
a friend, a message was brought that his daugh- 
ter was at the point of death. His wife, a pious 
woman, had instructed her child in the truths 
of the Bible. When the father appeared at the 
bedside, the daughter affectionately looked at 
him and said, " Father, I am about to die ; shall 
I believe in the principles you have taught me, 
or shall I believe in what my mother has taught 
me ?" On hearing this question the colonel was 
much distressed, and after a pause replied, 
' ' Believe in what your mother has taught 
YOU." Reader, that hour of trial will overtake 
us all ! be ready for it; i-est your hope on Christ. 



PURITY OF CHAKACTER. 

Over the beauty of the plum and the apricot 
there grows a bloom and beauty more exquisite 
than the fruit itself — a soft, delicate flush that 
overspreads its blushing cheek. Now, if you 
strike your hand over that, it is gone for- 
ever ; for it never grows but once. The flower 
that hangs in the morning, impearled with dew, 
arrayed as a queenly woman never was arrayed 
with jewels : once shake it so that the beads 
roll ofi^, and you may sprinkle water over it as 
you please, yet it can never be made again 
what it was wjten the dew fell silently on it 
from heaven. On a frosty morning you may 
see panes of glass covered with landscapes — 
mountains, lakes, and trees, blended in a beau- 
tiful, fantastic picture. Now, lay your hand 
upon the glass, and by a scratch of your finger, 
or by the warmth of your palm, all the delicate 
tracery will be obliterated. So there is in 
youth a beauty and purity of character, which, 
when once touched and defiled, can never be 
restored — a fringe more delicate than frost- 
work, and which, when torn and broken, will 
never be re-embroidered. He who has spotted 
and soiled his garments in youth, though he 
may seek to make them white again, can never 
wholly do it, even were he to wash them with 
his tears. When a young man leaves his fa- 
ther's house with the blessing of a mother's 
tears still wet upon his brow, if he once lose 
that early purity of character, it is a spot that 
he can never make whole again. Such is the 
consequence of crime. Its effects cannot be 
eradicated ; it can only be forgiven. 



UNIVERSALISM IN A NUTSHELL. 

" I am a Universalist," said G. K , boast- 

ingly, " and you orthodox are not fair in saying 
that our system is inconsistent with reason." 

"I will prove the irrationality of your sys- 
tem," said his friend. "You believe Christ 
died to save all men?" 

"Yes, I do." 

" And you do n't believe there is a hell ?" 

"No, I don't." 

" You don't believe there is any punishment 
hereafter?" 

"No, I do not ; men are punished for their 
sins in this life ?" 

" Well, now let us put your " rational" sys- 
tem ■ together. It amounts to just this, that 
Christ the Saviour died to save all men from 
nothing at all. Not from hell, because, accord- 
ing to you, there is none. Not from punishment 
in a future state of being, for he receives his 
whole punishment in this life. Yours is the 
absurd spectacle of ropes and life-preservers 
thrown at an immense expense to a man who is 
on dry land, and in no danger of being drown- 
ed." 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



47 



THE BIBLE. 

Who composed the following description of 
the Bible we may never know. It was found in 
Westminster Abbey, nameless and dateless ; but 
nevertheless, it is invaluable for its wise and 
wholesome counsels : 

A nation would be truly happy if it were gov- 
erned by no other laws than those of this bless- 
ed book. 

It contains everything needful to be known or 
done. 

It gives instruction to a Senate, authority and 
direction to a magistrate. 

It cautions a witness, requires an impartial 
verdict of a jury, and furnishes a judge with 
his sentence. 

It sets the husband as the lord of the house- 
hold, and the wife as the mistress by the table ; 
tells him how to rule, and her as well how to 
manage. 

It entails honor on parents, and enjoins obe- 
dience on children. 

It prescribes and limits the sway of the sov- 
ereign, the rule of the ruler, and the authority 
of the master, commands the subjects to honor, 
and the servants to obey ; and the blessing and 
protection of the Almighty to all who walk by 
its rule. 

It gives directions to weddings and burials. 

It promises food and raiment, and limits the 
use of both. 

It points out a faithful and eternal guardian 
to the departing husband and father ; tells him 
with whom to leave his fatherless children, and 
whom his widow is to trust ; and promises a 
father to the former and a husband to the latter. 

It teaches a man to get his house in order and 
how to make his will ; it appoints a dowry for 
his wife ; entails the right of the first-born ; and 
shows how the young branches shall be left. 

It defends the rights of all, and reveals ven- 
geance to every defaulter, overreacher, and tres- 
passer. 

It is the first book, the best book. 

It contains the choicest matter, gives the best 
instruction, and affords the greatest degree of 
pleasure and satisfaction that we have ever en- 
Joyed. 

It contains the best laws and most profound 
mysteries that were ever penned ; and it brings 
the very best of comfort to the inquiring and 
disconsolate. 

It exhibits life and immortality from life 
everlasting, and shows the way to glory. 

It is a brief recital of all that is to come. 

It settles all matters in debate, resolves all 
doubts, and eases the mind and conscience of 
scruples. 

It reveals the only living and true God, and 
shows the way to Him ; it sets aside all other 
gods, and describes the vanity of them and all 
that trust in such ; in short, it is a book of laws 
to show right and wrong ; of wisdom that con- 
demns all folly and makes the foolish wise ; a 



book of truth that detects all lies, and confronts 
all errors ; it is a book of life that shows the 
way from everlasting death. 

It contains the most ancient antiquities and 
strange events, wonderful occurrences, heroic 
deeds, and iinparalleled wars. 

It describes the celestial, terrestrial, and in- 
fernal worlds, and the origin of the angelic my- 
riads, the human tribes, and the devilish le- 
gions. 

It will instruct the accomplished mechanic 
and the most profound critic. 

It is the best covenant that was ever agreed 
on, the best deed that ever was sealed, the best 
evidence that ever was produced, the best will 
that will ever be signed. 

To understand it is to be wise, indeed ; to be 
ignorant of it is to be destitute of true wisdom. 

It is the king's best copy, the magistrate's 
best rule, the housekeeper's best guide, the 
servant's best directory, and the young man's 
best companion ; it is the schoolboy's spelling- 
book, and the great and learned man's master- 
piece. 

It contains choice grammar for a novice, and 
profound mystery for a sage. 

It is the ignorant man's dictionary, and the 
wise man's directory. 

It afl"ords knowledge of witty inventions for 
the humorous, and dark sayings for the grave ; 
it is also its own interpreter, and that which 
crowns it all is, that the Author is without par- 
tiality, and without hypocrisy, " With whom is 
no variableness, neither shadow of turning." 

Lost Wome^t. — Has it ever occurred to you 
what a commentary upon our civilization are 
these lost women, and the attitude of society 
toward them ? A little child strays from the 
home inclosure, and the whole community is on 
the alert to find the wanderer, and restore it to 
its mother's arms. What rejoicing when it is 
found, what tearful sympathy, what heartiness 
of congratulation ! There are no harsh com- 
ments upon poor, tired feet, be they ever so 
miry, no reprimand for th e soiled and torn gar- 
ments, no lack of kisses for the tear-stained 
face. But let the child be grown to womanhood, 
let her be led from it by the scourge of want — 
what happens then? Do Christian men and 
women go in quest of her? Do they provide 
all possible help for her return, or if she returns 
of her own motion, do they receive her with 
such kindness and delicacy as to secure her 
against wandering again ? Far from it. At the 
first step she is denounced as lost — lost ! echo 
friends and relatives — we disown you ; do n't 
ever come near us to disgrace us ! Lost ! says 
society, indifferently. How bad these girls are! 
And lost ! — irretrievably lost ! — is the prompt 
verdict of conventional morality, while one and 
all unite in bolting every door between her and 
respectability. Ah ! will not those lost ones be 
required at our hands hereafter ? — Mrs. Bur- 
leigh. 



48 



RELIGIOUS READING. 



THE BUKIAL OP MOSES. 

' 'And He buried liim in a valley in the land 
of Moab, over against Beth-peor ; but no man 
knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day." 

[The following ■which appeared some years 
since in the ' ' Edinburg Review, " is one of the 
grandest sacred poems ever written. It has 
been published again and again, and yet the peo- 
ple never grow weary of it. ] 

By Nebo's lonely mountain. 

On this side Jordan's wave, 
In a vale iu the land of Moab, 

There lies a lonely grave. 
And no man dug that sepulchre, 

And no man saw it e'er. 
For the angels of God upturned the sod 

And laid the dead man there. 

That was the grandest funeral 

That ever passed on earth ; 
But no man heard the trampling, 

Or saw the train go forth — ■ 
Noiselessly as the daylight 

Comes back when night is done. 
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek 

Grows into the great sun ! 

Noiselessly as the Spring-time 

Her crown of verdure weaves. 
And all the trees on all the hills 

Open their thousand leaves ; 
So without sound of music, 

Or voice of them that wep^ 
Silently down from the mountain's crowa 

The great procession swept. 

Perchance the bald old eagle 

On gray Beth-peor's height. 
Out of his lonely eyrie 

Looked on the wondrous sight ; 
Perchance the lion, stalking. 

Still shuns that hallowed spot. 
For beast and bird have seen and heard 

That which man knoweth not. 

But when the warrior dieth, 

His comrades in the war. 
With arms reversed and muffled drum. 

Follow his funeral car. 
They show the banners taken, 

They tell his battles won, 
And after him lead his masterless steed. 

While peals the minute gun. 

Amid the noblest of the land 

We lay the sage to rest. 
And give the bard an honored place. 

With costly marble drest. 
In the great minster transept, 

Where lights like glories fall. 
And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings, 

Along the emblazoned wall. 



This was the truest warrior 

That ever buckled sword, 
This the most gifted poet 

That ever breathed a word. 
And never earth's philosopher 

Traced with his golden pen 
On the deathless page truths half so sage 

As he wrote down for men. 

And hath he not high honor — 

The hillside for a pall. 
To lie in state while angels wait, 

With stars for tapers tall. 
And the dark rock -pines, like tossing plumes. 

Over his bier to wave ; 
And God's own hand, in that lonely land, 

To lay him in the grave ? 

In that strange grave without a name. 

Whence his uncoffined clay 
Shall break again, wondrous thought I 

Before the Judgment Day, 
And stand with glory wrapt around 

On the hills he never trod. 
And speak of the strife that won our life, 

With the incarnate Son of God. 

Oh, lonely grave in Moab's land ! 

Oh, dark Beth-peor's hill ! 
Speak to these curious hearts of ours, 

And teach them to be still. 
God hath His mysteries of grace. 

Ways that we cannot tell ; 
He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep 

Of him he loved so well. 



Beyond Comprehension. — When Daniel 
Webster was in his best moral estate, and when 
he was in the prime of his manhood, he was one 
day dining with a company of literary gentle- 
men in the city of Boston. The company was 
composed of clergymen, lawyers, physicians, 
statesmen, merchants, and almost all classes of 
literary persons. During the dinner the con- 
versation incidently turned uiDon the subject of 
Christianity. Mr. Webster, as the occasion was 
in honor of him, was expected to take a leading 
part in the conversation, and he frankly stated 
as his religious sentiments his belief in the di- 
vinity of Christ, and his dependence upon the 
atonement of the Saviour. A minister of very 
considerable literary reputation, sat almost op- 
posite him at the table, and he looked at him 
and said : ' ' Mr. Webster, can you comprehend 
how Jesus Christ could be both God and man ?" 
Mr. Webster, with one of those looks which 
no man can imitate, fixed his eye upon him, and 
promptly and emphatically said : ' ' No, sir, I 
cannot comprehend it ; and I would be ashamed 
to acknowledge Him as my Saviour if I could 
comprehend it. If I could comprehend Him 
He could be no greater than myself, and such is 
my conviction of accountability to God, such 
is my sense of sinfulness before Him, and such 
is my knowledge of my own incapacity to re- 
cover myself, that I feel the need of a super- 
human Saviour." — Bishop Janes. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



49 



ROCK OF AGES. 

" Rock of Ages, cleft for me," 

Thoughtlessly the maiden sung ; 
Fell the words unconsciously 

From her girlish tongue : 
Sang as little children sing, 

Sang as sing the birds in June, 
Fell the words like light leaves down 

On the current of the tune — 
"Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in Thee." 

" Let me hide myself in Thee," 

Felt her soul no need to hide ; 
Sweet the song as song could be — 

And she had no thought beside ; 
All the words unheedingly 

Fell from lips untouched by care. 
Dreaming not that they might be 

On some other lip a prayer — 
"Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in Thee." 

' ' Rock of Ages, cleft for me " — 
'Twas a woman sang them now ; 
Sang them slow and wearily — 

Wan hand on her aching brow. 
Rose the song as storm-tossed bird 

Beats with weary wing the air. 
Every note with sorrow stirred,; 
Every syllable a prayer — 
" Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in Thee." 

" Rock of Ages, cleft for me," 

Lips grown aged sang the hymn 
Trustingly and tenderly — 
Voice grown weak, and eyes grown 
dim ; 
" Let me hid myself in Thee," 

Trembling though the voice and low, 
Ran the sweet strain peacefullj^^ 

Like a river in its iiow ; 
Sung as only they can sing 
Who behold the promised rest — 
' ' Rock of Ages, cleft for me. 
Let me hide myself in Thee. 

" Rock of Ages, cleft for me," 

Sung above a coffin lid ; 
Underneath, all restfuUy, 

All life's joys and sorrows hid. 
Nevermore, storm-tossed soul ! 

Nevermore from wind or tide, 
Nevermore from billows' roll. 

Wilt thou need to hide. 
Could the sightless, sunken eyes. 

Closed beneath the soft gray hair ; 
Could the mute and stiffened lips 

Move again in pleading prayer, 
Still, aye still, the words would be : 
" Let me hide myself in Thee." 



READ YOUR BIBLE DAILY. 

The celebrated painter, Benjamin Robert^ 
Haydon, gave the following admirable advice to 
his son, at a very critical time of his life : ' ' You 
are quite right to read history ; make yourself 
master of the histories of Greece and Rome. 
The English people are in many respects not un- 
like the Athenians, without their art, and like 
the Romans, without their profligacy. Read 
your Bible daily. There is no more interesting 
book in the world, and it is becoming more nec- 
essary to read it and study it, because 1 already 
perceive a tendency among our scientific men, 
in all their pride of knowledge and Avhat they 
call discovery, to set the bible as an oriental 
legend. Do not believe them. The Mosaic ac- 
count of the Creation is the most simple and 
the most natural, and will be found, you may 
rely on it, confirmed by science, when science 
has got down to the real facts. Generalization, 
founded on our present knowledge of the laws 
of nature, is the very thing which our present 
acquaintance with those laws does not justify. 
I am convinced that no thoroughly established 
and settled theory will be found to contradict, 
the truths revealed in the Bible. But you are 
too young yet for me to enter further on the sub- 
ject. I only tell you of it to put you on yoiir guard. 
You will find many men, old and grown-up men, 
who will laugh at the Bible. Do not believe 
them. Mathematics are all very well ; but the 
different calculus, my dear boy, can never prove 
or disprove the existence of God. Read your 
bible, do your duty, and leave the rest to God. 



TAKE THE GOSPEL AWAY, AND WHAT ? 

Take the general Gospel away, and what a 
mockery is human philosophy? I once met a 
thoughtful scholar, who told me that he had 
read every book which assailed the religion of 
Jesus Christ. He said he should have become 
an infidel were it not for three things : 

"First, I am a man. I am going somewhere. 
I am to-night a day nearer the grave than last 
night. I have read all that they can tell me. 
There is not one solitary ray of light upon the 
darkness. They shall not take away the only 
guide and leave me stone blind. 

"Secondly, I had a mother. I saw her go- 
down in the dark valley where I am going, and 
she leaned upon an unseen arm as calmly as a 
child goes to sleep upon the breast of a mother. 
I know that was not a dream. 

"Thirdly," he said, with tears in his eyes, 
"I have three motherless daughters. They 
have no protector but myself. I would rather 
kill them than leave them in this sinful world if 
you could blot out from it all the teachings of the 
Gospel." — Bishop Whipple. 



50 



RELIGIOUS READING. 



THE LORD'S PRAYER. 

Did you ever think, short though it is, how 
much there is in it ? Oh, it is beautiful ! And, 
like a diamond in the crown of a queen, it unites 
a thousand sparkling gems in one. 

It teaches all of us — every one of us — to look 
to God as our parent : — " Ovir Father." 

It teaches us to raise our thoughts and desires 
above the earth: — "Who art in Heaven." 

It tells us that we must reverence our Heav- 
enly Father : — "Hallowed be Thy name." 

It breathes the saints' reward : — " Thy king- 
dom come." 

And a submissive, obedient spirit: — "Thy 
will be done on earth as it is in heaven." 

And a dependent, trusting spirit : — "Give us 
this day our daily bread." 

And a forgiving spirit : — " Forgive us our 
trespasses as we forgive those who trespass 
against us." 

And a cautious spirit : — " Deliver us from 
evil. " 

And, last of all, an adoring spirit : — " For 
thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the 
glory, forever. Amen." 



A LETTER 



FROM GEN. R. 
HIS SON. 



E. LEE TO 



Aklington House, April 5, 1852. 
My Dear Son : * * * * Your letters 
breathe a spirit of frankness. They have given 
myself and your mother great pleasure. You 
must study to be frank with the world ; frank- 
ness is the child of honesty and courage. Say 
"what you mean to do on every occasion, and 
take it for granted you mean to do right. If a 
friend asks a favor, yovi should grant it if it is 
reasonable: if not, tell him plainly why you 
cannot ; you will wrong him and you will 
wrong yourself by equivocation of any kind. 
Never do a wrong thing to make a friend or to 
keep one ; the man who requires you to do so 
is dearly purchased at a sacrifice. Deal kindly 
but firmly with your classmates ; you will find 
it the policy that wears best. Above all, do 
not appear to others what you are not. If you 
have any fault to find with any one, tell him, 
not others, of what you complain ; there is no 
more dangerous experiment tlian that of under- 
taking to be one thing before a man's face and 
another behind his back. We should live, act, 
and say nothing to the injury of any one. It 
is not only best as a matter of pi'inciple, but it 
is the path to peace and honor. In regard to 
duty, let me, in conclusion of this hasty letter, 
inform you that nearly one hundred years ago 
there was a day of remarkable gloom and dark- 
ness, still known as the "dark day," a day 
when the light of the sun was slowly extin- 
guished as if by an eclipse. The Legislature 



of Connecticut was in session, and as its mem- 
bers saw the unexpected and unaccountable 
darkness coming on, they shared in the general 
awe and teri'or. It was supjiosed by many that 
the last day — the day of judgment — had come. 
Some one, in the consternation of the hour, 
moved an adjournment. Then there arose an 
old Puritan legislator, Davenport Stanford, 
who said that if the last day had come he de- 
sired to be found at his place, doing his duty, 
and therefore moved that candles be brought so 
that the house could proceed with its duty. 
There was quietness in that man's mind — the 
c[uietness of heavenly wisdom — an inflexible 
willingness to obey present duty. Duty, then, 
is the sublimest word in our language. Do 
your duty in all things like the old Puritan. 
You cannot do more ; you should never wish 
to do less. Never let me and your mother 
wear one gray hair for any lack of duty on your 
part. Your affectionate father", R. E. Lee. 
To G. W. Custis Lee. 



ITEMS EVERY MAN SHOULD READ. 

We have probably all of us met with instances 
in which a word heedlessly spoken against the 
reputation of a woman has been magnified by 
malicious minds until the cloud has become 
dark enough to overshadow her whole existence. 

To those who are accustomed — not necessari- 
ly from bad motives, but from thoughtlessness 
— to speak lightly of women, we recommend 
three hints as worthy of consideration : 

Never use a lady's name in an improper time 
or in mixed company. 

Never make any assertions about her that you 
think are not true, or allusions that you think 
she herself would blush to hear. 

When you meet men who do not scruple to 
make use of a woman's name in a reckless and 
unprincipled manner, shun them, for they are 
the very worst members of the community — 
men lost to every sense of honor, every feeling 
of humanity. 

Many a good woman 's character has been ru- 
ined and her heart broken by a lie, manufactur- 
ed by some villain and repeated where it should 
not have been, and in the presence of those 
whose little judgment could not deter them 
from circulating the foul and bragging report. 
A slander is soon propagated, and the smallest 
thing derogatory to a woman's character will 
fly on the wings of the wind and magnify as it 
circulates, i;ntil its monstrous weight crushes 
the poor, unfortunate victim. 

Respect the name of a woman, for your moth- 
er and sisters are women, and as you would have 
their fair name untarnished and their lives un- 
embittered by the slanderer's tongue, heed the 
ill that your own words may bring upon the 
mother, the sister, or the wife of some fellow- 
creature. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



51 



"IT IS TOLD ME I MUST DIE." 

[Richard Langhorne, a lawyer, was unjustly 
condemned and put to death as a traitor, in the 
reign of Charles I. Just before the execution 
he wrote the following exquisite and remarkable 
poem. In the words of the Quarterly Review, 
"A poem it must be called, though it is not in 
verse. Perhaps there is not in this or any other 
language a poem which appears to have flowed 
so entirely from the heart. " 

It is told me I must die ; 

O, happy news ! 

Be glad, my soiil. 

And rejoice in Jesus, the Saviour ! 

If He intended thy perdition. 

Would He have laid down His life for thee ? 

Would He have called thee with so much love. 

And illuminated thee with the light of the 

Spirit ? 
Would He have given thee His cross ; 
And given thee shoulders to bearitwith patience? 

It is told me I must die ; 
O, happy news ! 
Come on, my dearest soul. 
Behold, thy Jesus calls thee, 
He prayed for thee upon His cross ; 
There He extended His arms to receive thee ; 
There He bowed down His head to kiss thee ; 
There He opened His heart to give thee entrance; 
There He gave up His life to purchase life for 
thee. 

It is told me I mi;st die ; 
O, what happiness ! 
I am going 

To the place of my rest ; 
To the land of the living ; 
To the haven of security ; 
To the kingdom of peace ; 
To the palace of my God ; 
To sit at the table of my King ; 
To feed on the bread of angels ; 
To see what no eye hath seen ; 
To hear what no ear hath heard ; 
To enjoy what the heart of man cannot com- 
prehend. 

O, my Father ! 

O, Thou best of all fathers ! 

Have pity on the most wretched of Thy chil- 
dren ! 

I was lost, but by Thy mercy found ; 

I was dead, but by Thy grace am now raised 
again ; 

I was gone astray after vanity. 

But I am now ready to appear before Thee. 

O, my Father ! 

Come now in mercy and receive thy child ! 
Give him Thy kiss of peace ; 
Remit unto him all his sins ; 
Clothe him with Thy nuptial robe ; 
Permit him to have a place at Thy feast ; 
And forgive all those who are guilty of his 
death. 



GOD'S WAY AND MAN'S WAY. 

God says : Seek ye first the kingdom of Heaven 
and its righteousness, and all these (earthly 
things) shall be added unto yoii. 

Man says : Seek first worldly wealth and fame 
and power ; religion you can get on a dying bed. 

God says : Open thy mouth wide, and I will 
fill it. 

Man says : Let prayer go, and work for what 
you want. 

God says : Give and it shall be given unto 
you ; good measure, pressed down and shaken 
together and running over, shall men give unto 
your bosoms. 

Man says : Charity begins at home. Why 
give to others that for which you have toiled so 
hard ? Your own family may want it. 

God says : Whatsoever ye would that men 
should do to you, do ye even so unto them. 

Man says : Each man for himself. Look out 
for number one. 

God says : Lay not up for yourselves treasures 
upon earth, but lay up for yourselves treasures 
in Heaven. 

Man says : Make sure of your worldly treas- 
ures. Heaven is a long way off. 

God says : Whosoever hath this World's goods, 
and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth 
up his bowels of compassion from him, how 
dwelleth the love of God in him ? 

Man says : What guaranty have I, if I give 
my earnings to the poor, that I shall not come 
to want myself ? 

God says : there is that that scattereth, and 
yet increaseth. 

Man says : It is only by saving and hoarding 
what you have that it will increase. 

Reader, what says your conscience? Is not 
God's way better than man's ? — Christian Stand- 
ard. 

Augustus Toplady. — Augustus Toplady be- 
queathed to the Church "Rock of Ages, Cleft 
for Me ;" "A Debtor to Mercy Alone ;" "When 
Langour and Disease Invade," and "Deathless 
Principle, Arise !" hymns in which it would seem 
as if the finished work were embalmed, and the 
living hope exulting in every line. During his 
last illness Toplady seemed to lie in a very ves- 
tibule of glory. To a friend's inquiry, he an- 
swered, with sparkling eye, ' ' Oh ! my dear sir, 
I cannot tell the comforts I feel in my soul — they 
are past expression. The consolations of God 
are so abundant that he leaves me nothing to 
pray for. My prayers are all converted into 
praise, I enjoy a heaven already in my soul." 
And within an hour of dying he called his 
friends and asked if they could give him up ; 
and when they said they could, tears of joy ran 
down his cheeks, and he added, " Oh ! what a 
blessing that you are made willing to give me 
over to the hands of my dear Redeemer, and 
part with me ; for no mortal can live after the 
glories which God has manifested in my soul !" 



CHOICE SELECTIONS OF POETRY. 



"It is the province of Poetry to hallow the 
sphere in which it moves, and breathe around 
it an odor more exquisite than the rose or the 

lily." 

o 

TO MAEY, IN HEAVEN. 

BY BOEERT BURNS. 

A gem in the writing of Burns, which has 
thrown a halo of light around his memory, 
and covers with the mantle of hope many of his 
errors. Oh ! how it seems to swell up from the 
depths of his heart, as he lies, stretched on the 
cold earth, gazing up to the beautiful star in 
whose bright realms his fancy had fixed the 
abode of " Mary, in Heaven." 

' ' Thou lingering star, with less 'ning ray, 
That lov 'st to greet the early morn, 

Again thou usher 'st in the day 
My Mary from my soul was torn. 

Mary ! dear departed shade ! 
Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 

See'st thou thy lover, lowly laid ? 
Hear 'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 

That sacred hour, can I forget ? 
Can I forget the hallowed grove, 

Where, by the winding Ayr, we met, 
To live one day of parting love ? 

Eternity will not efface 
Those records dear of transports past ; 

Thy image at our last embrace. 
Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 

Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, 
O'erhung with wild woods thick 'ning green ; 

The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar, 
Twin'd amorous round the raptured scene. 

Tlie flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 
The birds sang love on every spray ; 

Till too, too soon, the glowing west 
Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry v/akes, 
And fondly broods with miser care 1 

Time but tlie impression deeper makes, 
As streams their channels deeper wear. 

My Mary, dear departed shade ! 
Where is thy blissful place of rest ? 

See 'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? " 



I 'LL KNOW THEE THEPvE. 

George D. Prentice said : ' ' No living poet can 
surpass in gracefulness and beauty the follow- 
ing lines, from the muse of Amelia. They are 
exceedingly beautiful :" 

Pale stars, that with thy soft, sad light 

Came out upon my bridal eve, 
I have a song to sing to-night, 

Before thou tak'st thy mournful leave. 
Since then so softly time has stirr'd, 

That months have almost seemed like hours ; 
And I am like a little bird 

That slept too long among the flowers, 
And, waking, sits with waveless wing, 

Soft singing 'mid the shades of even ; 
But oh, with sadder heart I sing — 

I sing of one who dwells in Heaven. 

Tlie winds are soft, the clouds are few, 

And tenderest thought my heart beguiles ; 
As floating up through mist and dew. 

The pale young moon comes out and smiles. 
And to the green, resounding shore. 

In silvery troops the ripples crowd. 
Till all the ocean, dimpled o'er. 

Lifts up its voice and laughs aloud; 
And star on star, all soft and calm, 

Floats u]) yon arch serenely blue ; 
And, lost to earth, and steeped in balm, 

My spirit floats in ether, too. 

Loved one ! though lost to human sight, 

I feel thy spirit lingering near ; 
And softly as I feel the light 

That trembles through the atmosphere, 
As in some temples holy shades. 

Though mute the hymn, and hushed the 
prayer, 
A solemn awe the soul pervades. 

Which tells that worship has been there ; 
A breath of incense, left alone 

Where many a censer swung around. 
Will thrill the wanderer like to one 

Who treads on consecrated ground. 

I know thy soul from worlds of bliss 

Yet stoops awhile to dwell with me. 
Hath caught the prayer I breathed in this. 

That I at last might dwell with thee. 
I hear a murmur from the seas 

That thrills me like the spirit's sighs ; 
I hear a voice on every breeze, 

That makes to mine its low replies — 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



53 



A voice all low and sweet like thine, 
It gives an answer to my prayer, 

And brings my soul from Heaven a sign, 
That I will know and meet thee there. 

I '11 know thee there by that sweet face, 

Round which a tender halo plays, 
Still touched with that expressive grace 

That made thee lovely all thy days ; 
By that sweet smile that o'er it shed 

A beauty like the light of even, 
Whose soft expression never fled. 

Even when its soul had flown to Heaven. 
1 11 know thee by the starry crown 

That glitters in thy raven hair ; 
Oh ! by these blessed signs alone, 

I '11 know thee there, I '11 know thee there. 

For ah ! thine eye, within whose sphere 

The sweets of youth and beauty met, 
That swam in love and softness here. 

Must swim in love and softness yet. 
For ah ! its dark and liquid beams. 

Though saddened by a thousand sighs, 
Were holier than the light that streams 

Down from the gates of Paradise — 
Were bright and radiant like the morn, 

Yet soft and dewy as the eve, 
Too sad for eyes whose smiles are born, 

Too young for eyes that learn to grieve. 

I wonder if this cool, sweet breeze 

Hath touched thy lips and found thy brow. 
For all my spirit hears and sees. 

Recalls thee to my memory now. 
For every hour we breathe apart 

Will but increase, if that can be, 
The love that fills this lonely heart, 

Already filled as full of thee. 
Yet many a tear these eyes must weep, 

And many a sin must be forgiven, 
Ere these pale lips shall sink to sleep — 

And you and I shall meet in Heaven. 



THE CLOSING- SCENE. 

BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. 

The following is pronounced, by the West- 
minster Beview, to be unquestionably the finest 
American poem ever written : 

Within the sober realm of leafless trees 
The russet year inhaled the dreamy air, 

Like some tanned reaper, in his hour of ease, 
Wlieu all the fields are lying brown and bare. 

The gray barns, looking from their hazy hills 
O'er the dim waters widening in the vales. 

Sent down the air a greeting to the mills 
On the dull thunder of alternate flails. 

All sights were mellowed, all sounds subdued, 
The hills seemed further, iand the stream 
sung low. 

As in a dream the distant woodman hewed 
His Winter log, with many a muffled blow. 



The embattled forests, erewhile armed with 
gold, 

Their banners bright with every martial hue. 
Now stood like some sad, beaten host of old. 

Withdrawn ajar in Time's remotest blue. 

On sombre wings the vulture tried his flight ; 
The dove scarce heard his sighing mate's com- 
plaint ; 
And, like a star, slow drowning in the light. 
The village church vane seemed to pale and 
faint. 

The sentinel cock upon the hill-side crew — 
Crew thrice — and all was stiller than before ; 

Silent, till some replying warder blew 

His alien horn, and then was heard no more. 

Where erst the jay, within the elm's tall crest, 
Made garrulous trouble round her unfledged 
young ; 

And where the oriole hung her swaying nest, 
By every light wind like a censer swung ; 

Where sung the noisy martins of the eaves. 
The busy swallows, circling ever near — 

Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes, 
An early harvest and a plenteous year ; 

Where every bird that waked the vernal feast 
Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at 
morn. 

To warn the reaper of the rosy east, 

All now was sunless, empty, and forlorn. 

Alone, from out the stubble, piped the quail, 
And croaked the crow through all the dreary 
gloom ; 

Alone, the pheasant, drumming in the vale, 
Made echo in the distant cottage loom. 

There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers ; 
The spiders moved their thin shroud night 
by night ; 
The thistle-down, the only ghost of flowers, 
Sailed slowly by — passing noiseless out of 
sight. 

Amid all this — in this most dreary air, 

And where the woodbine shed upon the porch 

Its crimson leaves, as if the year stood there. 
Firing the floor with his inverted touch. 

Amid all this, the centre of the scene, 

The white-haired matron, with monotonous 
tread, 
Plied the swift wheel, and with her joyless mien 
Sat like a fate, and watched the flying thread. ~ 
She had known sorrow. He had walked with 
her, 
Oft supped, and broke with her the ashen 
crust; 
And in the dead leaves still she heard the stir 
Of his thick mantle, trailing in the dust. 

While yet her cheek was bright with Summer 
bloom. 
Her country summoned, and she gave her all; 
And twice war bowed to her his sable plume — 
' Re-gave the sword to rust upon the wall. 



54 



CHOICE SELECTIONS OF POETRY. 



Re-gave the sword, but not the hand that drew 
And struck for liberty the dying blow ; 

Nor him who, to his sire and country true, 
Fell 'neath the ranks of the invading foe. 

Long, but not loud, the drooping wheel went on. 
Like the low murmur of a hive at noon ; 

Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone 
Breathed through her lips a sad and tremu- 
lous tone. 

At last the thread was snapped — her head was 
bowed ; 
Life dropped the distaff through her hands 
serene. 
And loving neighbors smoothed her careful 
shroud. 
While death and Winter closed the Autumn 
scene. 

COUNTRY IN AUTUMN. 

John Logan, who has been described as one 
of those unfortunate men of genius whose life 
has been marked by disappointment and mis- 
fortune, was born at Soutra, in East Lothian, 
in 1748. He early evinced poetical talent, and, 
throughout the whole of his productions, there 
runs a vein of tenderness and moral sentiment 
tinged with melancholy. We give an extract 
from one of his last pieces, written during a 
visit to the " Country in Autumn :" 

' Tis past ; no more the Summer blooms ! 

Ascending in the rear, 
Behold congenial Autumn comes. 

The Sabbath of the year ! 
What time thy holy whispers breathe, 
The pensive evening shade beneath. 

And twilight consecrates the floods ; 
While nature strips her garment gay. 
And wears the vesture of decay, 

let me wander thro' the sounding woods ! 

Ah ! well-known streams ! — ah ! wonted groves. 

Still pictured in my mind ! 
Oh ! sacred scenes of youthful loves. 

Whose image lives behind ! 
While sad I ponder on the past. 
The joys that must no longer last ; 

The wild-flower strewn on Summer's bier ; 
The dying music of the grove. 
And the last elegies of love. 

Dissolve the soul, and draw the tender tear. 

My steps, when innocent and young, 

These fairy paths pursued ; 
And, wandering o'er the wild, I sung 

My fancies to the wood. 
I mourned the linnet-lover's fate. 
Or turtle from her murdered mate, 

Condemned the widowed hours to wail ; 
Or while the mournful vision rose, 
I sought to weep for imaged woes. 

Nor real life believed a tragic tale ! 



Alas ! Misfortune's cloud unkind 

May Summer soon o'ercast ! 
And cruel Fate's untimely wind 

All human beauty blast ! 
The wrath of Nature smites our bowers. 
And promised fruits and cherished flowers, 

The hopes of life in embryo sweeps ; 
Pale o'er the ruins- of his prime, 
And desolate before his time. 
In silence sad the mourner walks and weeps ! 

Yet not unwelcome waves the wood 

That hides me in its gloom. 
While lost in melancholy mood 

I muse upon the tomb. 
Their chequered leaves the branches shed ; 
Whirling in eddies o'er my head. 

They sadly sigh that Winter's near : 
The warning voice I hear behind, 
That shakes the wood without a wind. 

And solemn sounds the death-bell of the year. 

Nor will I court Lethean streams. 

The sorrowing sense to steep ; 
Nor drink oblivion of the themes 

On which I love to weep. 
Belated oft by fabled rill, 
While nightly o'er the hallowed hill 

Aerial music seems to mourn ; 
I '11 listen Autumn's closing strain ; 
Then woo the walks of youth again. 

And pour my sorrows o'er the untimely urn ! 
— Chaynbers' Journal. 



"MY LIFE IS LIKE TKE SUMMER 
ROSE." 

The author of the beautiful lyric, "My Life 
is Like the Summer Rose, " which is so univer- 
sally admired, like Wolfe and Gray, immortal- 
ized his name by a single production. The 
piece is usually attributed to the late Hon. 
Richard H. Wilde, a native of Baltimore, but 
for many years a resident of Georgia, which he 
represented in Congress. It was written about 
the year 1813, and first printed in 1818. We 
subjoin the original of Wilde, with a response 
( in alternate verses ) of almost eqvial force and 
beaiity, said to have been written by a lady of 
Baltimore, Maryland : 

My life is like the Summer rose. 

That opens to the morning sky. 
But ere the shades of evening close, 

Is scattered on the ground to die. 
Yet on that rose's humble bed. 

The sweetest dews of night are shed. 
As if she wept such waste to see. 

But none shall weep a tear for me. 

The dews of night may fall from Heaven, 
Upon the withered rose's bed ; 

And tears of fond regret be given, 
To mourn the virtues of the dead. 

Yet, morning's sun the dew will dry. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



55 



And tears will fade from sorrow's eye ; 
Affection's pangs be lulled to sleep, 
And ev^en love forget to weep. 

My life is like the Autumn leaf 

That trembles in the moon's pale ray — ■ 
Its hold is frail, its date is brief, 

Restless, and soon to pass away. 
Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, 

The parent tree shall mourn its shade ; 
The winds bewail the leafless tree, 

But none shall breathe a sigh for me. 

The tree may mourn its fallen leaf, 

And Autumn winds bewail its bloom : * 
And friends may heave a sigh of grief 

O'er those who sleep within the tomb : 
Yet soon will Sjpring renew the flowers, 

And time will bring more smiling hours ; 
In friendship's heart all grief will die, 

And even love forget to sigh. 

My life is like the prints which feet 

Have left on Tampa's desert sand — 
Soon as the rising tide shall beat. 

All trace shall vanish from the strand. 
Yet, as if grieving to efface 

All vestige of the human race 
On that lone shore loud moans the sea. 

But none, alas ! shall mourn for me. 

The sea may on the desert shore 

Lament each trace it bears away ; 
The lonely heart its grief may pour 

O'er cherished friendship's fast decay ; 
Yet, when all track is lost and gone, 

The waves dance bright and gaily on ; 
Thus soon aff^ection's bonds are torn, 

And even love forgets to mourn. 

— Christian World. 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 

FRANCIS M. FINCH. 

The following verses were written shortly 
after the close of the war. Inasmuch as in 
various sections of the country no distinction 
is made between the Federal and Confederates 
in decorating their graves, the country seems to 
have risen to the magnanimous spirit in which 
the " Blue and the Gray " is written. 

By the flow of the inland river. 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
Where the blades of the new grass quiver. 
Asleep are the ranks of the dead. 

Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the Judgment day, 
Under the one the Blue, 
Under the other the Gray. 

These in the robing of glory, 

Those in the gloom of defeat, 
All with the battle-blood gory, 

In the dusk of eternity meet. 



Under the sod and the dew. 
Waiting the Judgment day, 

Under the laurel the Blue, 
Under the willow the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go. 
Lovingly laden with flowers. 
Alike for the friend and the foe. 

Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the Judgment day, 
Under the roses the Blue, 
Under the lilies the Gray. 

So with an equal splendor 

The morning sun-rays fall. 
With a touch impartially tender, 
On the blossoms blooming for all. 

Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the Judgment day, 
Broidered with gold the Blue, 
Mellowed with gold the Gray. 

So when the Summer calleth. 
On forest and field of grain, 
With an equal murmur falleth 
The cooling drip of the rain. 

Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the Judgment day. 
Wet with the rain the Blue, 
Wet with the rain the Gray. 

Sadly, but not upbraiding, 

The generous deed was done, 
In the storm of the years that are fading. 

No braver battle was won. 

Under the sod and the dcAv, 
Waiting the Judgment day. 

Under the blossoms the Blue, 
Under the garland the Gray. 

No more shall the war cry sever. 

Or the winding river be red ; 
They banish our anger forever. 

When they laurel the graves of our dead, 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the Judgment day. 
Love and tears for the Blue, 
Tears and love for the Gray. 

ENIGMA. 

THE LETTER " H." 

The following celebrated poetical enigma has 
been usually attributed to Lord Byron, but it 
is now believed to have been written by Miss 
Katherine Fanshawe, a lady of England : 
'Twas whispered in heaven, 'twas muttered in 

hell. 
An echo caught faintly the sound as it fell ; 
On the confines of earth 'twas permitted to 

rest, 
And the depths of the ocean its presence con- 
fessed. 



56 



CHOICE SELECTIONS OF POETRY. 



'Tis seen in the lightning and heard in the 

thunder, 
'Twill be found in the sphere when riven asun- 
der ; 
jTwas allotted to man with his earliest breath, 
It assists at his birth and attends at his death ; 
Presides over his happiness, honor and health, 
Is the prop of his house and the end of his 

wealth ; 
In the heaps of the miser 'tis hoarded with care. 
But is sure to be lost by his prodigal heir ! 
It begins every hope, every wish it must bound. 
It prays with the hermit, with monarchs is 

crowned. 
Without it the soldier and sailor may roam, 
But woe to the wretch who expels it from 

home ! 
In the whispers of conscience 'tis sure to be 

found. 
Nor e'er in the whirlwind of passion be drowned; 
'Twill soften the heart, and though deaf be the 

ear, 
It will make it acutely and instantly hear ; 
In the shade let it rest like a delicate flower ; 
Oh ! breathe on it softly, it dies in an hour ! 



A PASTOEAL. 

The following poem, by A. J. Mundy, a hith- 
erto unknown English poet, is one of the most 
beautiful things we have seen in years. It is 
not only exquisitely sweet, natural and easy in 
its flow, but it is a marvel in the way of versifi- 
cation. Observe the wonderfully ingenious 
manner in which certain words of the first stan- 
za are made to rhyme with the corresponding 
words in the second, and so on with the third 
a,nd fourth, etc. — Boston Transcrqit. 
I sat with Doris, the shepherd maiden ; 

Her crook was laden with wreathed flowers ; 
I sat and wooed her through sunlight wheeling. 

And shadows stealing for hours and hours. 
And she, my Doris, whose lap incloses 

Wild Summer roses of faint perfume. 
The while I sued her, kept hushed and hearkened 

Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom. 
She touched my shoulder with fearful finger ; 

She said, ' ' We linger ; we must not stay ; 
My flocks in danger, my sheep will wander ; 

Behold them yonder— how far they stray ! " 

I answered bolder, "Nay, let me hear you, 
. And still be near you, and still adore ; 
No wolf or stranger will touch one yearling ; 
Ah ! stay, my darling, a moment more. 

She whispered, sighing,_ " There will be sorrow 
Beyond the morrow, if I lose to-day : 

My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded, 
I shall be scolded, and sent away." 

Said I, replying, "If they do miss you, 

They ought to kiss you when you get home ; 

And well rewarded by friend and neighbor 
Should be the labor from which you come.' 



"They might remember," she answered meekly, 
' ' That lambs are weakly and sheep are wild ; 

But, if they love me, it's none so fervent ; 
I am a servant and not a child." 

Then each hot ember glowed quick within me. 
And love did win me to swift reply : 

"Ah do but jjrove me, and none shall blind you, 
Nor fray, nor find you, until I die." 

She blushed and started, and stood awaiting. 

As if debating in dreams divine ; 
But I did brave them — I told her plainly 

She doubted vainly ; she must be mine. 

1 So we twin-hearted, from all the valley 
Did chase and rally her nibbling ewes. 
And homeward drove them, we two together. 
Through blooming heather and gleaming dews. 

That simple duty from grace did lend her — 

My Doris tender, my Doris true : 
That I, her warder, did always bless her. 

And often press her to take her due. 

And now in beautjr she fills my dwelling — 
With love excelling, and undefiled ; 

And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent — 
No more a servant, nor yet a child. 



THE MONEYLESS MAN. 

This beautiful poem was composed years ago 
by Henry Staunton, of Maysville, Kentucky. 
Such gems of poetry are not often met with, 
written by authors whose names are never 
known to history. 

Is there no place on the face of earth 
Where charity dwelleth, where virtue has birth? 
Where bosoms in kindness and mercy will heave, 
And the poor and the wretched shall ask and 

receive ? . 

Is there no place on earth where a knock from 

the poor 
Will bring a kind angel to open the door ? 
Ah ! search the wide world wherever you can, 
There is no open door for the moneyless man. 

Go look in the hall where the chandelier light 
Drives off with its splendor the darkness of 

night ; 
Where the rich hanging velvet, in shadowy fold, 
Sweeps gracefully down, with its trimming of 

gold. 
And mirrors of silver take up and renew 
In long lighted vistas the 'wildering view ; 
Go there in your patches, and find if you can 
A welcoming smile for the moneyless man, 

Go look in your church of the cloud-reaching 

spire. 
Which gives back to the sun his same look of fire. 
Where the arches and columns are gorgeous 

within. 
And the walls seem as pure as a soul without 

sin ; 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



57 



Go down the long aisle — see the rich and the 

great 
In the pomp and the pride of their worldly es- 
tate — 
Walk down in your patches, and find if you can 
Who opens a pew for the moneyless man. 
Go to your judge, in dark, flowing gown. 
With the scales wherein law weigheth quietly 

down ; 
Where he frowns on the weak and smiles on the 

strong. 
And punishes right while he justifies wrong ; 
Where jurors their lips on the Bible have laid, 
To render a verdict they 've already made ; 
Go there in the court-room, and find if you can 
Any law for the case of the moneyless man. 

Go look in the banks, where Mammon has told 
His hundreds and thousands of silver and gold ; 
Where, safe from the hands of the starving and 

poor, 
Lies pile upon pile of the glittering ore ; 
Walk lip to the counter — ah, there you may 

stay. 
Till your limbs have grown old and your hair 

turns gray. 
And you '11 find at the bank not one of the clan 
With money to lend to a moneyless man. 

Then go to your hovel — no raven has fed 

The wife who has suffered so long for her bread ; 

Kneel down on her pallet and kiss the death 

frost 
From the lips of the angel your poverty lost — 
Then turn in your agony upward to God, 
And bless while it smites you the chastening 

rod ; 
And you'll find after ending your life's little span. 
There's a welcome above for the moneyless man. 



THERE IS A MYSTIC THREAD OF LIFE. 

BY LORD BYBON. 

There is a mystic thread of life, 
So dearly wove with mine alone 

That destiny's relentless knife 
At once must sever both or none. 

There is a form on which these eyes 
Have often gazed with fond delight ; 

By day that form their joy supplies. 
And dreams restore it through the night. 

There is a voice whose tunes insjnre 

Such thrills of rapture through my breast, 

I would not hear a seraph choir 
Unless that voice could join the rest. 

There is a face whose blushes tell 

Affection's tale upon the cheek, 
But pallid at one fond farewell, 

Proclaim more love than words can speak. 

There is a lip which mine have pressed, 
And none liave ever pressed before ; 

It vowed to make me sweetly blessed. 
And mine, mine only pressed it more. 



There is a bosom all my own 

Hath pillowed oft this aching head ; 

And mouth which smiles on me alone. 
And eye whose tears with mine are shed. 

There are two hearts whose movements thrill 

In unison so closely sweet 
That, pulse to pulse responsive still. 

They both must heave or cease to beat. 

There are two souls whose equal flow 
In gentle streams so calmly run, 

That when they part, they part ! ah, no ! 
They cannot part, these souls are one ! 



ALICE GARY'S SWEETEST POEM. 

Our readers will be gratified by the republica- 
tion of the following exquisite lines by Alice 
Gary — lines which, in the judgment of so com- 
petent a critic as Edgar A. Poe, deserve to rank 
a,mong the very finest contributions to the poet- 
ic literature of this country : 
Of all the beautiful pictures 

That hang on Memory's wall. 
Is one of a dim old forest, 

That seemeth best of all ; 
Not for its gnarled oaks olden, 

Dark with the mistletoe; 
Not for the violets golden 

That sprinkle the vale below ; 
Not for the milk-white lilies 

Tliat lean from the fragrant hedo-e, 
Coquefciug all day with the sunbeams. 

And stealing their golden edge ; 
Not for the vines of the upland, 

Where the bright red berries rest ; 
Nor the pinks, nor tlie pale, sweet cowslip. 
It seemeth to me the best. 

I once had a little brother. 

With eyes that were dark and deep — 
In the lap of that olden forest 

He lieth in peace, asleep ; 
Light as the down of the thistle, 

Free as the winds that blow. 
We roved there the beautiful Summers, 

The Summers of long ago ; 
But his feet on the hills grew weary, 

And one of the Autumn eves 
I made for my little brother 

A bed of the yellow leaves. 

Sweetly his pale arms folded 

My neck in a meek embrace, 
As the light of immortal beauty 

Silently covered his face ; 
And when the arrows of sunset 

Lodged in the tree-tops brighl;, 
He fell, in his saint-like beauty. 

Asleep by the gates of light. 
Therefore, of all the pictures 

That hang on Memory's wall. 
The one of the dim old forest 

Seemeth the best of all. 



CHOICE SELECTIONS OF POETRY. 



THE FORSAKEN. 

This poem, written by " Stella " (Mrs. Estelle 
Anna Lewis), at the age of fourteen, Poe said 
was " the most beautiful ballad of the kind ever 
written. We have read it," he remarked, 
' ' more than twenty times, and always with in- 
creasing admiration." And, on the strength of 
this opinion, we reprint it : 

It hath been said, for all who die 

There is a tear ; 
Some pining, bleeding heart to sigh 

O'er every bier. 
But in that hour of pain and dread 

Who will draw near 
Around my humble couch and shed 

One farewell tear ? 

Wlio 'd watch life's last departing ray 

In deep despair. 
And soothe my spirit on its way 

With holy prayer ? 
What mourner round my bier will come. 

In weeds of woe, 
And follow me to my long home, 

Solemn and slow ? 

When lying on my clayey bed. 

In icy sleep, 
Who there, by pure affection led. 

Will come and weep ; 
By the pale moon implant the rose 

Upon my breast. 
And bid it cheer my dark repose. 

My lowly rest ? 

Could I but know, when I am sleeping 

Low in the ground, 
One faithful heart would there be keeping 

Watch all night round, 
As if some gem lay shrined beneath 

That sod's cold gloom, 
'Twould mitigate the pangs of death, 

And light the tomb. 

Yes ; in that hoiir, if I coiild feel 

From halls of glee. 
And Beauty's presence one would steal 

In secrecy. 
And come and sit and weep by me 

In night's deep noon. 
Oh ! I would ask of memory 

No other boon. 

But ah ! a lonelier fate is mine, 

A deeper woe ; 
From all I love in youth's sweet time 

I soon must go ; 
Drawn round me my pale robes of white, 

In a dark spot 
To sleep through death's long dreamless night 

Lone and forgot. 

— Chrktian at Worh. 



THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD. 

The following poem, one of the most beauti- 
ful in the language, was written by Colonel The- 
odore O'Hara, of Kentucky, who served in the 
Mexican War, and also in the War of the Re- 
bellion, first as Colonel of an Alabama regiment, 
and afterward as Chief of Staff to General 
Breckinridge. He died in 1867 on an Alabama 
plantation, and the Legislature of Kentucky 
have brought his remains home for interment, 
with those of other Kentucky soldiers, under a 
monument erected by the State. His poem 
drew its inspiration from scenes in the Mexican 
War, and these are the stanzas : 

The muffled drum's sad roll has beat 

The soldier's last tattoo : 
No more on life's parade shall meet 

That brave and fallen few. 
On Fame's eternal camping ground 

Their silent tents are spread. 
And glory guards, with solemn round, 

The bivouac of the dead. 

No rumor of the foe's advance 

Now swells upon the wind ; 
No troubled thought at midnight haunts 

Of loved ones left behind ; 
No vision of the morrow's strife 

The warrior's dream alarms. 
No braying horn or screaming fife 

At the dawn shall call to arms. 
Their shivered swords are red with rust. 

Their plumed heads are bowed. 
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust. 

Is now their martial shroud — 
And plenteous funeral tears have wash'd 

The red stains from each brow. 
And the proud forms, by battle gashed. 

Are free from anguish now. 

The neighing troop, the flashing blade, 

The bugle's stirring blast, 
The charge, the beautiful cannonade. 

The din and shout are past — 
Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal. 

Shall thrill with fierce delight 
Those bi-easts that never more may feel 

The rapture of the fight. 

Like the fierce Northern hurricane 

That sweeps his great plateau. 
Flushed with the triumph yet to gain. 

Come down the serried foe — • 
Who heard the thunder of the fray 

Break o'er the field beneath. 
Knew well the watchword of that day 

Was victory or death. 

Full many a mother's breath has swept 

O'er Angostura's plain. 
And long the pitying sky has wept 

Above its molder'd slain. 
The raven's scream, or eagle's flight,, 

Or shepherd's pensive lay. 
Alone now wake each solemn height 

That frowned o'er that dread fray 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



59 



Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground ! 

Ye must not slumber there, 
"Where stranger steps and tongues resound 

Along the heedless air ; 
Your own proud land's heroic soil 

Shall he your fitter grave ; 
She claims from war its richest spoil — 

The ashes of her brave. 

Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest, 

Far from the gory field. 
Borne to a Spartan mother's breast 

On many a bloody shield. 
The sunshine of their native sky 

Smiles sadly on them here. 
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by 

The heroes' sepulchre. 

Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead ! 

Dear as the blood ye gave, 
No impious footstep here shall tread 

The herbage of your grave. 
Nor shall your glory be forgot 

While Fame her record keeps, 
Or honor points the hallowed spot 

Where Valor proudly sleejDS. 

Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone 

In deathless song shall tell. 
When many a vanished year hath flown. 

The story how ye fell ; 
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight, 

Nor Time's remorseless doom. 
Can dim one ray of holy light 

That gilds your glorious tomb. 



BEAUTIFUL SNOW. 

Oh ! the snow, the beautiful snow ! 
Filling the sky and the earth below, 
Over the house-tops, over the street. 
Over the heads of the people you meet. 
Dancing, 

Flirting, 

Skimming along ; 
Beautiful snow ! it can do no wrong. 
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek. 
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak- — 
Beautiful snow from the heavens above. 
Pure as an angel, gentle as love ! 

Oh ! the snow, the beautiful snow ! 
How the flakes gather and laugh as they go ! 
Whirling about in their maddening fun, 
It plays in its glee with every one. 
Chasing, 

Laughing, 

Hurrying by ; 
It lights on the face and it sparkles the eye. 
And the dogs, with a bark and a bound. 
Snap at the crystals that eddy around — 
The town is alive and its heart in a glow. 
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow ! 



How wild the crowd goes swaying along. 
Hailing each other with humor and song ! 
How the gay sledges like meteors flash by, 
Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye ! 

Ringing, 

Swinging, 

Dancing they go. 
Over the crust of the beautiful snow ! 
Snow so pure, when it falls from the sky, 
To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing hy. 
To be trampled and tracked by the thousands 

of feet. 
Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street. 
Once I was pure as the snow — but I fell ! 
Fell like the snow-flakes from heaven to hell ; 
Fell to be trampled as filth in the street. 
Fell to be scoffed, to be spit on and beat ; 

Pleading, 

Cursing, 

Dreading to die, 
Selling my soul to whoever would buy ; 
Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread. 
Hating the living and fearing the dead ; 
Merciful God ! have I fallen so low ? 
And yet I was once like the beautiful snow. 
Once I was fair as the beautiful snow. 
With an eye like its crystal, a heart like its glow. 
Once I was loved for the charm of my grace, 
Flattered and sought for the charms of my face I 

Father, 

Mother, 

God and myself I Ve lost by my fall ;' 
The veriest wretch that goes shivering by 
Will make a wide swoop, lest I wander too nigh : 
For all that is on or about me, I know 
There is nothing as pure as the beautiful snow. 

How strange it should be that the beautiful snow 
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go ! 
How strange it would be, when the night comes 

again, 
If the snow and theice strike my desperate brain, 
Fainting, 

Freezing, 

Dying alone ; 
Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan 
To be heard in the streets of the crazy town. 
Gone mad in the joy of the snow coming down, 
To lie and to die in my terrible woe. 
With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow. 
* * * ■);• « -Si- 

Helpless and foul as the trampled snow. 
Sinner, despair not, Christ stoopeth low 
To rescue the soul that is lost in its sin 
And raise it to life and enjoyment again. 
Groaning, 

Bleeding, 

Dying for thee ! 
The Crucified hung on the accursed tree. 
His accents of mercy fall soft on my ear : 
Is there mercy for me ? Will he heed my weak 

prayer ? 
God, in the stream that for sinners did flow, 
" Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow." 



6o 



CHOICE SELECTIONS OF POETRY. 



LADY BYRON'S REPLY. 

The following lines are Lady Byron's reply to 
Lord Byron's well-known ' ' Fare thee well, and 
if forever, still forever fare thee well : " 

Yes, farewell ! FarewfeU forever ; 

Thou thyself hast fixed our doom — 
Bade Hope's sweet blossom wither, 

Never more for me to bloom. 

" Unforgiving " thou hast called me ! 
Did'st thou ever say "forgive?" 
For the wretch whose wiles enthralled thee 
Thou did'st seem alone to live. 

Short the span which time hath given 

To complete thy love's decay ; 
By unhallowed passions driven, 

Soon thy lieart was taught to stray. 

Lived for me that feeling tender 
Which so well thy verse can show ? 

From my arms why did'st thou wander ? 
My endearments why forego ? 

Wrapped in dreams of joy abiding, 
On my breast thy head hath lain ; 

In thy love and truth confiding, 
Bliss I camiot know again. 

When thy heart by me "glanced over," 
First displayed the guilty stain. 

Would these eyes had closed forever, 
Ne'er to weep thy crimes again. 

But, by heaven's recording spirit. 

May that wish forgotten be ; 
Life, though now a load, I '11 bear it 

For the babe I 've borne to thee. 

In whose lovely features (let me 

All my weakness here confess 
While the struggling tears permit me) 

All her father's I can trace. 

His whose image never leaves me, 
Whose remembrance yet I prize. 

Who this bitterest feeling gives me 
Still to love where I despise. 

With regret and sorrow rather. 
When our child's first accents flow, 

I shall teach her to say " father," 
But his guilt she ne'er shall know. 

Whilst to-morrow and to-morrow 

Wake me to a widow's bed. 
In another's arms no sorrow 

Wilt thou feel ? — no tear will shed ? 

For the world's applause I sought not 
When I tore myself from thee ; 

Of its praise or blame I tliought not^ 
What its praise or blame to me ? 



He in whom my soul delighted, 
From his heart my image drove ; 

With contempt my love requited. 
And preferred a wanton's love. 

Thou art proud — and mark me, Byron, 
I 've a soul as proud as thine own ; 

Soft to love, but hard as iron 
When despite on me is thrown. 

But, farewell ! — I '11 not upbraid thee — 

Never, never wish thee ill, 
Wretched though thy crimes have made me ; 

If thou canst, be happy still. 



"THE EVENING BELLS." 

Many of our readers are no doubt familiar 
with Thomas Moore's beautiful song of ' ' The 
Evening Bells, " but they may not be familiar 
with the incident which suggested them. The 
incident is as follows : In the Cathedral of 
Limerick there hangs a chime of bells which 
were cast in Italy by an enthusiast in his trade, 
who fixed his home near the monastery where 
they were first hung, that he might daily enjoy 
their sweet and solemn music. In some politi- 
cal revolution the bells were taken away to some 
distant land, and the maker himself became a 
refugee and exile. After some years he found 
his way to Ireland. On a calm and beautiful 
evening, as the vessel which bore him floated on 
the placid bosom of the Shannon, suddenly the 
evening chimes pealed from the cathedral tow- 
ers. His practiced ear caught the sweet sound, 
and he knew his lost treasures were found. His 
early home, his old friends, his beloved native 
land, all the best associations of his life were in 
those sounds. He laid himself back in the boat, 
crossed his arms upon liis breast, and listened 
to the music. The boat reached the wharf, but 
still he lay there silent and motionless. They 
spoke to him, but he did not answer. They 
went to him, but his spirit had fled. The tide 
of memories that came vibrating through his 
heart at that well - known chime had snapped 
the silver chord snd set him free. It was this 
incident which suggested to the poet the lines 
which are appended : 

" Those evening bells ! those evening bells ! 
How many a tale their music tells ! 
[Of youth, and home, and that sweet time 
When last I heard their soothing chime ! 

" Those joyous hours are passed away, 
And many a heart that then was gay 
Within the tomb now darkly dwells, 
And hears no more those evening bells. 

** And thus 'twill be when I am gone. 
That tuneful peal shall still ring on ; 
While other bards shall walk these dells. 
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells ! " 
— Parish Visitor. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



6l 



CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT. 

England's sun was setting o'er the hills so far 

away, 
Filled the land with misty beauty at the close 

of one sad day ; 
And the last rays kiss'd the forehead of a man 

and maiden fair — 
He with step so slow and weary, she with sunny, 

floating hair ; 
He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful, she 

with lips so cold and white, 
>Struggled to keep back the murmur, ' ' Curfew 

must not ring to-night. " 

"Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing 

to the prison old. 
With its wall so tall and gloomy, walls so dark 

and damp and cold, 
' ' I've a lover in that prison, doomed this very 

night to die 
At the ringing of the Curfew, and no earthly 

help is nigh, 
Cromwell Mall not come till sunset," and her 

face grew strangely white, 
As she spoke in husky whispers — ■" Curfew must 

not ring to-night. " 

"Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton — every word 

pierced her young heart 
Like a thousand gleaming arrows — like a deadly 

poisoned dart ; 
"Long years I've rang the Ourfew from that 

gloomy shadowed tow er ; 
Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the 

twilight hour ; 
I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just 

and right, 
Now I'm old I will not miss it ; girl, the Curfew 

rings to-night ! " 

Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and 
white her thoughtful brow. 

And within her heart's deep center, Bessie made 
a solemn vow ; 

She had listened while the judges read, without 
a tear or sigh, 

"At the ringing of the Curfew — Basil Under- 
wood must die.'''' 

And her breath came fast and faster, and her 
eyes grew large and bright — 

One low murmur scarcely spoken — ' ' Curfew 
must not ring to-night ! " 

She with light step bounded forward, sprang 
within the old church door, 

Left the old man coming slowly, paths he'd trod 
so oft before ; 

Not one moment paused the maiden, but with 
cheek and brow aglow, 

Staggered up the gloomy tower where the bell 
swung to and fro ; 

Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, with- 
out one ray of light. 

Upward still, her pale lips saying, "Curfew shcdl 
not ring to-night." 



She has reached the topmost ladder, o'er her 
hangs the great, dark bell. 

And the awful gloom beneath her, like the path- 
way down to hell ; 

See, the ponderous tongue is swinging, 'tis the 
hour of Curfew now — 

And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped 
her breath and paled her brow. 

Shall she let it ring ? No, never ! her eyes flash 
with sudden light, 

As she springs and grasps it firmly — "Curfew 
shcdl not ring to-night ! " 

Out she swung, far out, the city seemed a tiny 

speck below ; 
There 'twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the 

bell swung to and fro ; 
And the half-deaf sexton ringing (years he had 

not heard the bell) 
And he thought the twilight Curfew rang young 

Basil's funeral knell : 
Still the maiden, clinging firmly, cheek and brow 

so pale and white. 
Still her frightened heart's wild beating — " Cur- 

few shall not ring to-night.'" 

It was o'er — the bell ceased swaying, and the 
maiden stepped once more 

Firmly on the damp, old ladder, where for hun- 
dred years before 

Human foot had not been planted ; and what 
this night had done 

Should be told long ages after — as the rays of 
setting sun 

Light the sky with mellow beauty, aged sires 
with heads of white 

Tell the children why the Curfew did not ring 
that one sad night.. 

O'er the distant hills came Cromwell ; Bessie 
saw him, and her brow, 

Lately white with sickening horror, glows with 
sudden beauty now ; 

At his feet she told her story, showed her hands 
all bruised and torn. 

And her sweet young face so haggard, with a 
look so sad and worn, . 

Touched his heart with sudden pity — lit his eyes 
with misty light ; 

"Go, your lover lives," cried Cromwell ; " Cur- 
few shall not ring to-night. " 



Origin of Slavery. — The importation of 
Negro slaves into the Spanish colonies com- 
menced as early as 1501, and was continued 
under the sanction of the Spanish monarchs. 
Sir John Hawkins was the first Englishman who 
(in 1562) embarked in this wicked trafhc. In 
1620 a Dutch vessel carried a cargo of slaves 
from Africa to Virginia, and this was the sad 
epoch of slavery in North America. 

Look beyond the cloiids, never despair 1 



62 



CHOICE SELECTIONS OF POETRY. 



LIGHT. 

This poem, by William Pitt Palmer, was, 
some years since, pronounced by one of the 
most eminent critics in Europe to be the finest 
production of the same length in our language. 

From the quickened womb of the primal gloom, 

The sun rolled bleak and bare. 
Till I wove him a vest for his Ethiop breast, 

Of the threads of my golden hair ; 
And when the broad tent of the firmament 

Arose on its airy bars, 
I penciled the hue of its matchless blue, 

And spangled it round with stars. 

I painted the flowers of Eden bowers, 

And their leaves of living green, 
And mine were the dyes in the sinless eyes 

Of Eden's virgin queen. 
And when the fiend's art on the trustful heart 

Has fastened its mortal spell, 
In the silvery sphere of the first-born tear 

To the trembling earth I fell. 

When the waves that burst o'er a world ac- 
cursed 

Their work of wrath had sped, 
And the Ark's lone few, the tried and true, 

Came forth amongst the dead. 
With the wondrous gleams of my bridal beams 

I bade their terror cease, 
As I wrote on the roll of the storm's dark scroll 

God's covenant of peace. 

Like a pall at rest on a senseless breast. 

Night's funeral shadow slept — 
When shepherd swains, on Bethlehem's plains. 

Their lonely vigils kept — 
When I flashed on their sight the heralds 
bright, 

Of heaven's redeeming plan, 
As they chanted the morn of a Saviour born — 

Joy, joy to the outcast man ! 

Equal favor I show to the lofty and low, 

On the just and unjust I descend ; 
E'en the blind, whose vain spheres roll in dark- 
ness and tears. 

Feel my smile the best smile of a friend. 
Nay, the flower of the waste by my love is 
embraced 

As the rose in the garden of kings. 
At the chrysalis bier of the worm I appear, 

And lo ! the gay butterfly wings. 

The desolate morn, like a mourner forlorn, 

Conceals all the pride of her charms, 
Till I bid the bright hours chase the night from 
her flowers, 

And lead the young day to her arms ; 
And when the gay rover seeks Eve for his lover, 

And sinks to her balmy repose, 
I wrap the soft rest by the zephyr-fanned west. 

In curtains of amber and rose ! 



From my sentinel sleep by the night- dreaded 
deep, 

I gaze with unslumbering eyes. 
When the cynosure star of the mariner 

Is blotted from out the sky ! 
And guided by me, through the merciless sea, 

Though sped by the hurricane's wing, 
His compassless, dark, lone, weltering bark 

To the haven home safely he brings. 

I wakened the flowers in their dew-spangled 
bowers. 
The birds in their chambers of green, 
And mountain and plain glovr with beauty 
again, 
As they bask in the matinal sheen. 
Oh, if such the glad worth of my presence on 
earth. 
Though fretful and fleeting the while. 
What glories must rest on the home of the blest. 
Ever bright with the Deity's smile ! 

GOD PITY THE POOPt. 

The following pathetic lines were written by 
the late (Mrs. Mary A. Ford) " Una," the well- 
known Irish- American poetess : 

The wild, rushing wings of the Tempest are 
sweeping 
The frost-fettered land like a spirit of wrath; 
His fierce, icy breath with keen arrows is pierc- 
ing 
The breast of the wand rers who stand in his 
path ; 
The earth in a trance lies enshrouded in silence, 
The storm king knocks loudly at window and 
door ; 
The prayer of the pitiful fervently rises — 
God shelter the homeless and pity the poor ! 

God pity the poor who are wearily sitting 

By desolate hearth-stones, cold, cheerless and 
bare. 
From which the last ember's pale flicker has 
faded, 
Like hope dying out in the midst of despair ; 
Who look on the wide world and see it a desert 
Where ripple no waters, no green branches 
wave, 
Who see in a future as dark as the present 
No rest but the death-bed, no home but the 
grave. 

God pity the poor when the eddying snow-drifts 
Are whirled by the wrath of the winter wind 

Like showers of leaves from the pallid star-lilies 
That float in the depths of the blue lake 
on high ; 
For though they are drafting the broad earth in 
beauty. 
And veiling some flaw in each gossamer fold, 
That beauty is naught to the mother whose chil- 
dren 
Are crouching around her in hunger and cold. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



63 



God pity the poor, for the wealthy are often 
As hard as the winter, and cold as its snow ; 
While fortune makes sunshine and summer 
around them. 
They care not for others nor think of their 
woe ; 
Or if from their plenty a trifle be given, 

So doubtingly, grudgingly, often 'tis doled, 
That to the receiver their " charity "' seemeth 
More painful than hunger, more bitter than 
cold. 

God pity the poor ! for though all men are 
brothers. 
Though all say "oi;r Father," not mine, when 
they pray. 
The proud ones of earth turn aside from the 
lowly. 
As if they were fashioned of different clay ; 
They see not in those who in meekness and pa- 
tience 
Toil, poverty, pain, without murmur endure. 
The Image of Him whose first couch was a man- 
ger, 
Who chose for our sake to be homeless and 
poor. 

God pity the poor ! give them courage and pa- 
tience 
Their trials, temptations, and troubles to 
brave, 
And pity the wealthy whose idol is Fortune, 
For gold cannot gladden the gloom of the 
grave ; 
And as this brief life, whether painful or pleas- 
. ant. 
To one that is endless but opens the door, 
The heart sighs while thinking on palace and 
hovel, 
God pity the wealthy as well as the poor. 



NO TIME LIKE THE OLD TIME. 



BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

There is no time like the old time, 

When you and I were young ; 
When the buds of April blossomed, 

And the birds of Spring-time sung. 
The garden's brightest gloi'ies 

By Summer suns are nursed, 
But oh, the sweet, sweet violets, 

The flowers that opened first ! 

There is no place like the old place, 

Where you and I were born. 
Where we lifted first our eyelids, 

On the splendors of the morn. 
From the milk-white breasts that warmed us. 

From the clinging arms that bore. 
Where the dear eyes glistened o'er us 

That will look for us no more. 



There is no friend like the old friend 

That has shared our morning days, 
No greeting like his welcome. 

No homage like his praise ; 
Fame is the scentless sunflower, 

With gaudy crown of gold ; 
But friendship is the breathing rose, 

With sweets in every fold. 

There is no love like the love 

That we courted in our pride ; 
Though our leaves are falling, falling. 

And we 're fading side by side. 
There are blossoms all around us, 

With the colors of our dawn, 
And we live in borrowed sunshine 

When the light of day is gone. 

There are no times like the old times — 
They shall never be forgot ! 

There is no place like the old place — 
Keep green the dear old spot ! 

There are no friends like our old friends- 
May heaven prolong our lives ! 

There are no loves like old loves — • 
God bless our loving wives I 



A HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW, 



MRS. MARY A. FORD, " UNA. 

We know of no other poem except, perhaps) 
the fine lines, "Why Should the Spirit of Mor- 
tal be Proud," wherein the vanity of human 
wishes, and the nothingness of a grabbing life 
are more truly and exquisitely depicted than in 
the following noble lines : 

The siirging sea of human life forever onward 

rolls. 
And bears to the eternal shore its daily freight 

of souls, 
Though bravely sails our bark to - day, pale 

death sits at the prow. 
And few shall know we ever lived a hundred 

years from now. 

mighty human brotherhood ! why fiercely 

war and strive. 
While God's great world has amj)le space for 

everything alive? 
Broad fields, uncultured and unclaimed, are 

waiting for the plow 
Of progress that shall make them bloom a 

hundred years from now. 

Why should we try so earnestly in life's short, 

narrow span, 
On golden stairs to climb so high above our 

brother man ? 
Why blindly at an earthly shrine in slavish 

homage bow ? 
Our gold will rust, ourselves be dust, a hundred 

years from now. 



64 



CHOICE SELECTIONS OF POETRY, 



Why prize so much the world's applaiise ? Why- 
dread so much its blame ? 

A fleeting echo is its voice of censure or of fame; 

The praise that thrills the heart, the scorn that 
dyes with shame the brow, 

Will be as long-forgotten dreams a hundred 
years from now, 

patient hearts, that meekly bear your weary 
load of wrong ! 

earnest hearts, that bravely dare, and, striv- 
ing, grow more strong ! 

Press on till perfect peace is won ; you'll never 
dream of how 

You struggled o'er life's thorny road a hundred 
years from now. 

Grand, lofty souls, who live and toil that free- 
dom, right, and truth 

Alone may rule the universe, for you is endless 
youth ; 

When 'mid the blest, with God you rest, the 
grateful lands shall bow 

Above your clay in rev'rent love a hundred 
years from now. 

Earth's empires rise and fall, Time ! like 

breakers on thy shore ; 
They rush upon thy rocks of doom, go down ; 

and are no more ; 
The starry wilderness of worlds that gem night's 

radiant brow 
Will light the skies for other eyes a hundred 

years from now. 

Our Father, to whose sleepless eyes the past 
and future stand 

An open page, like babes we cling to Thy pro- 
tecting hand ; 

Change, sorrow, death are naught to us if we 
may safely bow 

Beneath the shadow of Thy throne a hundred 
years from now. 

— Irish World. 



IN SCHOOL DAYS. 



BY JOHN G. AVHITTIER. 

Still sits the school-house by the road, 

A ragged beggar sunning ; 
Around it still the sumachs grow. 

And blackberry vines are running. 

Within, the master's desk is seen, 
Deep scarred by raps official ; 

The warping iloor, the battered seats. 
The jack-knife's carved initial. 

The charcoal frescoes on its walls ; 

It's door's worn sill, betraying 
The feet that creeping slow to school, 

Went storming out to playing. 



Long years ago a Winter sun 

Shone over it at setting ; 
Lit up its western window panes 

And low eaves' icy fretting. 

It touched the tangled golden curls 
And brown eyes, full of grieving. 

Of one who still her steps delayed 
When all the school were leaving. 

For near her stood the little boy 

Her childish favor singled ; 
His cap pulled low upon a face 

Where pride and shame were mingled. 

Pushing with restless feet the snow 
To right and left, he lingered ; 

As restlessly her tiny hands 

The blue checked apron fingered. 

He saw her lift her eye ; he felt 
The soft hands light caressing. 

And heard the tremble of her voice. 
As if a fault confessing. 

" I'm sorry that I spelt the word ; 
I hate to go above you. 
Because " — the brown eyes lower fell — 
"Because, you see, I love you ! " 

Still memory to a gray-haired man 
That sweet child face is showing ; 

Dear girl ! the grasses on her grave 
Have forty years been growing. 

He lives to learn in life's hard school, 
How few who pass above him, 

Lament their triumph and his loss, 
Like her — because they love him. 



THE PARTING HOUR. 

The following exquisite poem was written by 
Edward Pollock, the gifted California poet, on 
the sixth of January, 1857. It was given by the 
poet to a friend who was about to embark on a 
steamer for Oregon, Pollock saying, ' ' Take 
this ; you may, perhaps, read and appreciate the 
sentiment long after 1 have ceased to be among 
the living." 

There's something in the ' ' parting hour " 

Will chill the warmest heart — 
Y^et kindred, comrades, lovers, friends, 

Are fated all to part. 
But this I've seen — and many a pang 

Has pressed it on my mind — 
The one who goes is happier 

Than the one he leaves behind. 

No matter what the journey be, 

Adventurous, dangei'ous, far. 
To the wild deep, bleak frontier. 

To solitude or war ; 
Still something cheers the heart that dares 

In all of human kind, 
And they who go are happier 

Than those they leave behind. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



65 



The bride goes to the bridegroom's home 

With doubtings and with tears, 
But does not Hope her rainbow spread 

Across her cloudy fears ? 
Alas ! the mother who remains, 

What comfort can she find 
But this — the gone is happier 

Than one she leaves behind ! 

Have you a friend — a comrade dear. 

An old and valued friend ? 
Be sure your term of sweet concourse 

At length will have an end ! 
And when you part — as part you will — ■ 

take it not unkind. 
If he who goes is happier 

Than you he leaves behind ! 

God wills it so, and so it is ; 

The pilgrims on their way, 
Though weak and worn, more cheerful are 

Than all the rest who stay. 
And when at last, poor man subdued. 

Lies down in death resigned. 
May he not still be happier far 

Than those he leaves behind ? 



'OH, 



WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF 
MORTAL BE PROUD ?" 



Following is the poem so much admired by 
President Lincoln when alive. It is reverent 
in spirit and somber in tone, two qualifications 
which doubtless recommend it to the kindly 
consideration of his serious nature : 

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? 
Like a fast Hitting meteor, a fast flying cloud, 
A flash of the liglitning, a break of the wave, 
He passeth from life to his rest in the grave. 

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, 
Be scattered around and together be laid — 
And the young and the old, and the low and the 

high, 
Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie. 

The child that a mother attended and loved ; 
The mother that infant's affection who proved ; 
The husband that mother and infant who blest — 
Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest.' 

The maid, on whose cheek, on whose brow, in 

whose eye, 
Shone beauty and pleasure — her triumphs are 

by; 
And the memory of those who loved her and 

praised. 
Are alike from the minds of the living erased. 

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath 

borne ; 
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath 

worn ; 



The eye of the sage and the heart of the brave, 
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave. 
The peasant, whose lot was to sow and to reap ; 
The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up 

the steep ; 
The beggar, who wandered in search of his 

bread, 
Have faded away like the grass that we tread. 

The saint, who enjoyed the communion of 

heaven ; 
The sinner, who dared to remain unforgiven ; 
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, 
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. 

So the multitude goes, like the flower and the 

weed, 
That wither away to let others succeed ; 
So the multitude comes, even those we behold, 
To repeat every tale that hath often been told. 

For we are the same things our fathers have 

been ; 
We see the same sights our fathers have seen ; 
We drink the same stream and view the same 

sun, 
And run the same course our fathers have run. 

The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would 

think ; 
From the death we are shrinking our fathers 

would shrink. 
To the life we are clinging they also would 

cling, 
But it speeds for us all like the bird on the 

wing. 

They loved, but their story we cannot unfold ; 
They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is 

cold ; 
They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers 

will come ; 
They joyed, but the voice of their gladness is 

dumb. 

They died — aye ! they died ; we, things that 
are now. 

Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow ; 

Who make in their dwellings a transient abode, 

Meet the things that they met on their pilgrim- 
age road. 

Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, 
Are mingled together in sunshine and rain; 
And the smile and the tear, the song and the 

dirge, 
Still follow each other, like surge upon surge. 

'Tis the twink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a 

breath, 
From the blossom of health to the paleness of 

death ; 
From the gilded saloon to the bier ^ and the 

shroud ; 
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? 



66 



CHOICE SELECTIONS OF POETRY. 



DO NOT SING THAT SONG AGAIN. 

This beautiful song, by Hugh F. McDer- 
mott, praised by the best of poets and of pa- 
pers, has been translated into many languages 
and sung the whole world round. 

Do not sing that song again, 
For it fills my heart with pain ; 
I am bending to the blast, 
And it tells me of the past. 

Of the years of long ago, 
When my days were young and fair, 
And my heart as light as air — 
When one feeling filled the breast, 
And one image gave it rest. 

In the long, long ago. 

Do not sing that song again, 
I have lived my years in vain, 
And my hair is thin and gray, 
And I 'm passing fast away ; 
On the dark and downward streams, 
I'm a wreck of idle dreams ; 
And it puts me on the rack 
At the weary looking back, 
At the ebb and at the flow, 
In the long, long ago. 

Do not sing that song again. 
There 's a tear in its refrain ; 
It brings sadly back the time 
When my manhood felt its prime ; 
When the comrades, dear and true. 
Closer, warmer, fonder grew 
In the hour of friendship's proof, 
When the false ones stood aloof. 
And their friendship was but show. 
In the long, long ago. 

Do not sing that song again. 
It distracts my weary brain. 
Ah, too well, alas ! I know 
It is time for me to go, 
And to leave to younger eyes 
The mild myst'ry of the skies, 
And this mighty world I tread, 
And the grander age ahead. 
There's a mist upon the river, 

And there 's bleakness on the shore ; 
And in dreams I pass forever, 

While sad music wafts me o'er. 



TWILIGHT. 

BY FITZ GREENE HALLECK. 

"There is an evening twilight of the heart, 
When its wild passion-waves are lulled to 
rest, 

And the eye sees life's fairy scenes depart. 
As fades the day-beam in the rosy west. 

'Tis with a nameless feeling of regret 
We gaze upon them as they melt away. 

And fondly would we bid them linger yet. 



But Hope is round us with her angel lay, 
Hailing afar some happier moonlight hour. 
Dear are her whispers still, though lost their 
power. 

"In youth the cheek was crimsoned with her 
glow. 
Her smile was loveliest then ; her matin song 
Was heaven's own music ; and the note of woe 

Was all unheard, her sunny bowers among. 
Life's little world of bliss was newly born. 

We knew not, cared not, it was born to die, 
Flushed with the cool breeze, and the dews of 
morn, 
With dancing heart we gazed on the pure sky, 
And mocked the passing clouds that dimmed its 

blue 
Like our own sorrows then, as fleeting and as 
few. 

" And manhood felt her sway, too ; on the eye. 

Half realized, her early dreams burst bright, 

Her promised power of happiness seemed nigh, 

Its days of joy, its vigils of delight ; 
And though, at times, might lower the thunder 
storm, 
And the red lightnings threaten, still the air 
Was balmy with her breath ; and her loved 
form, 
The rainbow of the heart, Avas hovering there, 
'Tis in life's noontide she is nearer seen. 
Her wreath the Summer flower, her robe of 
Summer green. 

But though less dazzling in her twilight dress. 
There's more of heaven's pure beam about her 



on her 



That angel smile of tranquil loveliness. 
Which the heart worships, glowing 
brow ; 
That smile shall brighten the dim evening star 
That points our destined tomb, nor e'er de- 
part 
Till the faint light of light is fled afar. 

And hushed the last deep beating of the 
heart ; 
The meteor bearer of our parting breath, 
A moonbeam in the midnight cloud of death." 



THE SMACK IN SCHOOL. 

The following incident in a district school, 
described by Mr. William Pitt Palmer, of New 
York, President of the Manhattan Insurance 
Company, in an address before "The Literary So- 
ciety," in Stockbridge, Mass., his native home, 
will take many whose heads are now streaked 
with silvery hairs a journey back to boyhood 
and early life. 

A district school, not far away, 
'Mid Berkshire hills, one Winter's day. 
Was humming with its wonted noise 
Of three-score mingled girls and boys — 
Some few upon their tasks intent, 
But more on furtive mischief bent ; 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



67 



The ■while the Master's downward look 
Was fastened on a copy-book — 
AVhen, suddenly, behind his back, 
Rose, sharp and clear, a rousing smack ! 
As 'twere a battery of bliss 
Let off in one tremendous kiss. 
*' What's that ? " the startled Master cries. 
" That, thir," a little imp replies, 
" Wath William Willith, if you pleathe— 
I thaw him kith Shutahnnah Peathe ! " 
With frown to make a statue thrill, 
The Master thundered, "Hither, Will ! " 
Like wretch o'ertaken in his track, 
With stolen chattels on his back, 
WilJ hung his head in fear and shame. 
And to the awful presence came — 
A great, green, bashful simpleton. 



The butt of all good-natured fun. 

With smile suppressed, and birch upraised, 

The threatener faltered, " I 'm amazed 

That you, my biggest pupil, should 

Be guilty of an act so rude ! 

Before the whole set school, to boot ! 

What evil genius put you to 't ? " 

'"Twas she herself, sir," sobbed the lad, 

"I did n't mean to be so bad. 
But when Susan shook her curls. 
And whispered I was 'fraid of girls. 
And dursn't kiss a baby's doll, 
I couldn't stand it, sir, at all. 
But up and kissed her on the spot. 
I know — boo-hoo — I ought to not. 
But, somehow, from her looks — boo-hoo — 
I thought she kind o' wished me to ! " 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. 



DEATH-WARRANT OF CHRIST. 

Chance has put into our hands the most im- 
posing and interesting judicial document that 
has ever been recorded in human annals — that 
is, the identical death-warrant of our Lord Je- 
sus Christ. We transcribe the document from 
a copy of the translation : 

' ' SENTENCE 

" Rendered by Pontius Pilate, Acting Governor 
of Lower Galilee, that Jesus of Nazareth shall 
suffer Death on the Cross. 
" In the year seventeen of the Empire of Ti- 
berius Csesar, and the 4th of March, the city of 
the holy Jerusalem : Aneas and Calaphas being 
Priests, sacrificators of the people of God, I, 
Pontius Pilate, Governor of the prsetory, con- 
demn Jesus of Nazareth to die on the cross be- 
tween two thieves — the great and notorious evi- 
dence of the people saying : 

1. He is a seducer. 

2. He is seditious. 

3. He is the enemy of the law. 

4. He calls himself, falsely, the son of God. 

5. He calls himself King of Israel. 

6. He entered into the Temple, followed by a 
multitude, bearing palm branches in their 
hands. 

Order the Centurion, Quintius Cornelius, to 
lead him to the place of execution. 



Forbid any person, whatsoever, poor or rich, 
to oppose the death of Jesus. " 

The witnesses that signed the death warrant 
of Jesus, are : 

1. Daniel Robani, a Pharisee. 

2. Janus Horobable. 

3. Capet, a citizen. 

' ' Jesus shall go out of the city by the gate 
' Streneous.' " 

The above sentences are engraved on a copper 
plate ; on one side are written these words : 

' ' A similar plate is to be^sent to each of those 
tribes.'" 

It was found in an antique vase of white 
marble, while excavating in the city of Aquilla, 
in the Kingdom of Naples, in the year 1822, 
and was discovered by the Commissariat of Arts 
attached to the French armies. At the expedi- 
tion of Naples it was found inclosed in a box 
of ebony, in the sacristy of Caurtem. 

The French translation was made by the mem- 
bers of the Commission of Arts. The children 
requested earnestly that the plate might not be 
taken from them. The request was granted as 
a reward for the army. Mr. Dennon, one of 
the savans, caused a plate to be made of the 
model, on which he had engraved the above 
sentences. At the sale of his collection of curi- 
osities, it was bought by Lord Howard for 
5,881 francs. — Courier des Etats Unis. 



68 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. 



THE FIEST PRAYER IN CONGRESS. 

The following description of the first prayer 
made in the Continental Congress is from a 
private letter of Mr. John Adams : 

"Philadelphia, 16 September, 1774. 

' ' When the Congress first met, Mr. Cushing 
made a motion that it should be opened with 
prayer. It Avas opposed by Mr. Jay, of New 
York, and Mr. Rutledge, of South Carolina, 
because we were so divided in religious senti- 
ments — some Episcopalians, some Quakers, 
some Anabajptists, some Presbyterians, and 
some Congregationalists — that we could not 
join in the same act of worship. Mr. Samuel 
Adams arose and said he was no bigot, and could 
hear a prayer from a gentleman of piety and 
virtue, who was at the same time a friend to 
his country. He was a stranger in Philadel- 
phia, but had heard that Mr. Duch6 (Dushay 
they pronounce it) deserved that character, 
and therefore he moved that Mr. Duche, an 
Episcopal clergyman, might be desired to read 
prayers to the Congress to-morrow morning. 
The motion was seconded, and passed in the 
affirmative. Mr. Randolph, our President, 
waited on Mr. Duch(5, and received for answer 
that if his health would permit he certainly 
would. Accordingly, next morning, he ap- 
peared with his clerk, and in his pontificals, 
and read several prayers in the established 
form ; and then read the Collect for the sev- 
enth day of September, which was the 35th 
Psalm. You must remember this was the next 
morning after we heard the horrible rumor of 
the cannonade of Boston. I never saw a great- 
er effect upon an audience. It seemed as if 
heaven had ordained that Psalm to be read on 
that morning. 

' ' After this, Mr. Duch(5, unexpected to 
everybody, struck out into an extemporary 
prayer, which filled the bosom of every man 
present. I must confess I never heard a better 
prayer, or one so well pronounced. Episcopa- 
lian as he is, Dr. Cooper himself never prayed 
with such fervor, such ardor, such earnestness 
and pathos, and in language so elegant and 
sublime — for America, for the Congress, for 
the Province of Massachusetts Bay, and espe- 
cially the town of Boston. It had an excellent 
effect upon everybody here. I must beg you to 
read that Psalm. If there was any faith in the 
Sortes Blhlicoi it would be thought providential. " 



From the top of Kearsarge Mountain, in 
New Hampshire, may be seen the birthplaces 
of Ezekiel and Daniel Webster, William Pitt 
Fessenden, Governor John A. Dix, Vice-Presi- 
dent Henry A. Wilson, Lewis Cass, ex-United 
States Senator Jas. W. Grimes, of Iowa, United 
States Senator Zachariah Chandler, of Michi- 
gan, Levi Woodbury, Horace Greeley, General 
Benj. F. Butler, ex-President Fraliklin Pierce, 
and Chief-Justice Chase. 



THE CHANGES OF A CENTURY. 

The nineteenth century has witnessed many 
and great discoveries. 

In 1809, Fulton took out the first patent for 
the invention of the steamboat. 

The first steamboats which made regular 
trips across the Atlantic Ocean were the JSirius 
and the Great Western, in 1830. 

The first public application to practical use 
of gas for illumination was made in 1802. 

In 1813, the streets of London were for the 
first time lighted with gas. 

In 1813, there was built in Waltham, Mass., 
a mill, believed to have been the first in the 
world which combined all requirements of mak- 
ing finished cloth from the raw cotton. 

In 1790, there were only twenty-five post- 
offices in the whole country, and up to 1837 
the rates of postage were twenty-five cents for 
a letter sent over four hundred miles. 

In 1807, wooden clocks commenced to be 
made by machinery. This ushered in the era 
of cheap clocks. 

The first railroad opened for the conveyance 
of passengers was the Darlington and Stockton 
(England) road, in 1825. 

About the year 1833 the first railroad of any 
considerable length, in the United States, was 
constructed. 

In 1840, the first experiments in photography 
were made by Daguerre. 

About 1840, the first express business was 
established. 

The anthracite coal business may be said to 
have begun in 1820. 

In 1836, the first patent for the invention of 
matches was granted. 

In 1845, the first telegram was sent. 

Steel pens were introduced for use in 1803. 

The first successful trial of a reaper took 
place in 1833. 

In 1846, Elias Howe obtained a patent for 
his first sewing machine. 

The first successful method of making vul- 
canized India rubber was patented in 1839. 



NAMES OF THE DAYS OF THE WEEK. 

Sunday is called from the Sim, whom the 
Saxons worshipped as a God. 

Monday, from the Moon, also worshipped as 
an idol. 

Tuesday is so called from Tiiisco, one of the 
most ancient and peculiar gods of the Germans. 

Wednesday, from Woden, a valiant Saxon 
prince, who was afterward deified. 

Thursday is called from Tlior, worshipped by 
all the heathen nations. 

Friday received its name from Friga, who 
was the same with the earth, and was esteemed 
the mother of all the deities. 

Saturday, from Seater, another of the Saxon 
deities. 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



69 



FACTS IN NATURAL HISTORY. 

Frogs, toads and serpents never take any food 
but that which they are satisfied is alive. 

When a bee, wasp or hornet stings, it is 
nearly always at the expense of its life. 

Serpents are so tenacious of life that they 
will live for six months and longer without food. 

Turtles dig holes in the sea-shore and bury 
their eggs, covering them up to be hatched by 
the sun. 

Lobsters are very pugnacious, and fight se- 
vere battles. If they lose a claw another grows 
out. 

A single codfish produces more than a million 
of eggs in a season. 

A whale suckles its young, and is therefore 
not a fish. The mother's aff"ectionis remarkable. 

Toads become torjaid in Winter, and hide 
themselves, taking uo food for five or six months. 

Sei'pents of all species shed their skins an- 
nually like sea-crabs and lobsters. 

It is believed that crocodiles live to be 
hundreds of years old. The Egyptians em- 
balmed them. 

The head of the rattlesnake has been known 
to infiict a fatal wound after being severed from 
the body. 

If the eye of a newt is put out, another one 
is soon supplied by rapid growth. 

Fishes have no eyelids, and necessarily sleep 
with their eyes open. 

Alligators fall into a lethargic sleep during 
the Winter season, like the toad. 

The power of sei'pents to charm birds and 
small c^uadrupeds is a well authenticated fact. 

There are agricultural ants in Texas that 
actually plant grain, and reap and store the 
harvest. 

THOUGH DEAD YET HE LIVES. 

The name of Washington lives, and is loved 
by every American citizen, and will be as long 
as there is a heart left to love. We copy the 
following from the Ulster County Gazette of 
January 4th, 1800, that our readers may have a 
record of the burial of the remains of this great 
and good man : 

W^ASHINGTON ENTOMBED. 

George Town, Dec. 20. 

On Wednesday last, the mortal part of 
WASHINGTON the Great— the Father of his 
Country and the Friend of man, was consigned 
to the tomb, with solemn honors and funeral 
pomp. 

A multitude of persons assembled from many 
miles round, at Mount Vernon, the choice abode 
and last residence of the illustrious chief. 
There were the groves — the spacious avenues, 
the beautiful and sublime scenes, the noble man- 
sion — ^but, alas ! the august inhabitant ivas now 
no more. That great soul was gone. His mor- 
tal part was there, indeed ; but ah ! how affect- 



ing ! how awful the spectacle of such worth and 
greatness, thus to mortal eyes, fallen ! Yes ! 
fallen ! fallen ! 

In the long and lofty Portico, where oft the 
Hero walked in all his glory, noio lay the shroud- 
ed corpse. The countenance still composed and 
serene, seemed to express the dignity of the 
spirit, which lately dwelt in that lifeless form. 
There those who paid the last sad honors to the 
benefactor of his country took an impressive — 
a farewell 'view. 

On the ornament, at the head of the coffin, 
was inscribed Sltege ad Judicium — about the 
middle of the coffin, gloeia deo — and on the 
silver plate, 

GENERAL 

• GEORGE WASHINGTON, 

Departed this life, on the 14th December, 1799 

^t. 68. 

BetM^een three and four o'clock, the sound of 
artillery from a vessel in the river, firing minute 
guns, awoke afresh our solemn sorrow — the 
corpse was moved — a band of music with mourn- 
ful melody melted the soul into all the tender- 
ness of woe. 

The procession was formed and moved on in 
the following order : 

Cavalry, 

Infantry, J- With arms reversed. 

Guard, 

Music, 

Clergy, 

The General's horse, with his saddle holsters 
and pistols. 



Cols. 
Simms, 
Ramsay, 
Payne, 



P-i 



^ 



Cols. 
Gilpin. 
Marsteller. 
Little. 



Mourners. 

Masonic Brethren. 

Citizens. 

When the jDrocession arrived at the bottom of 
the elevated lawn, on the banks of the Potomac, 
where the family vault is placed, the cavalry 
halted, the infantry marched toward the Mount 
and formed their lines — the Clergy, the Mason- 
ic Brothers, and the Citizens, descended to the 
Vault, and the funeral service of the Church 
was performed. — The firing was repeated from 
the vessel in the river, and the sounds echoed 
from the woods and hills around. 

Three general discharges by the infantry — the 
cavalry, and 1 1 pieces of artillery, M^hich lined 
the banks of the Potomac back of the Vault, 
paid the last tribute to the entombed Com- 
mander-in-Chief of the Armies of the United 
States and to the departed Hero. 

The sun was now setting. Alas ! the son of 
GLORY was set forever. No — the name of 
WASHINGTON— the American President and 
General — will triumph over Death ! The un- 
clouded brightness of his Glory will illuminate 
the future ages ! 



70 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. 



AN INGENIOUS COMPOSITION. 

The following is a curious piece of antiquity. We know not the author. The middle cross 
represents our Saviour ; those on either side, the two thieves. On the top and down the cross are 
our Lord's expressions, "My God ! my God ! why hast Thou forsaken me? " and on the top of the 
cross is the following Latin inscription : INEI — Jesus Nazarenus, Rex Judeorum, i. e., Jesus of 
Nazareth, King of the Jews. Upon the cross on the right hand is the prayer of one of the thieves : 
" Lord ! remember me when thou comest into Thy kingdom." On the left-hand cross is the saying 
or reproach of the other : " If thou beest the Christ, save thyself and us." The whole, comprised 
together, makes an excellent piece of poetry, which is to be read across all the columns, and makes 
as many lines as there are letters in the alphabet. It is, perhaps, one of the most curious pieces 
of composition to be found on record, as well as an excellent penitential psalm. 

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S H 



PEN PORTRAIT OF OUR SAVIOUR. 

Found in an ancient manuscript sent by Pub- 
lius Lentulus, President of Judea, to the Senate 
of Rome : "News to the Senate of Rome con- 
cerning Jesus Christ in the days of Tiberius 
Csesar the Emperour, as the governotirs of sun- 
dry provinces under the Senate and people 
of Rome used to advertise the Senate of such 
news as chanced in diverse counties. 

"Publius Lentulus, being at that time presi- 
dent in Judea, wrote an epistle to the Senate 
and people of Rome, the words whereof were 
these : ' There appeared in these our days a 
man of great virtue, named Jesus Christ, who 
is yet living amongst us, and of the Gentiles is 
accepted for a Prophet of Truth, but his own 
disciples called Him the Son of God. He rais- 
eth the dead and cureth all manner of diseases. 
A man of stature somewhat tall and comely, 
with a very reverend countenance, such as the 
beholders may both love and fear ; his hair of 



the color of philbert full ripe, and plain almost 
down to his ears ; but from the ears downward 
somewhat curled, and more orient of color, wav- 
ing on his shoulders. In the midst of his head 
goeth a seam, or partition of his hair, after the 
manner of the Nazarites ; his forehead, very 
plain and smooth ; his face, without spot or 
wrinkle, beautified with a comely red ; his nose 
and mouth so formed as nothing can be repre- 
hended ; his beard somewhat thick, agreeable 
in color to the hair of his head, not of any great 
length, in the midst of an innocent and mature 
look ; his eyes gray, clear and quick. In reprov- 
ing, he is terrible ; in admonishing, courteous 
and fair-spoken ; pleasant in speech, mixed with 
gravity. It cannot be remembered that any 
have seen him laugh, but many have seen him 
weep. In proportion of body, well-shaped and 
straight : his hands and arms right, and delect- 
able to behold ; in speaking, very temperate, 
modest and wise. A man for singular beauty 
surpassing the children of men.' " 



CASKET OF LITERARY TREASURES. 



71 



OLD-FASHIONED LOVE LETTERS. 

Letters between the first Governor of Massa- 
chusetts and his wife, about the year 1625 : 

My Most Sweet Husband : — How dearly 
welcome thy kind letter was to me, I am not 
able to express. The sweetness of it did much 
refresh me. What can be more pleasing to a 
wife than to hear of the welfare of her best-be- 
loved, and how he is pleased with her poor en- 
deavors ? I blush to hear myself commended, 
knowing my own wants. But it is your love 
that conceives the best, and makes things seem 
better than they are. I wish that I might al- 
ways please thee, and that those comforts which 
we have in each other may be daily increased, 
as far as they may be pleasing to God. I will 
use the speech to thee that Abigail did to David: 
' ' I will be a servant to wash the feet of my 
Lord." I will do any service wherein I may 
please my good husband. I confess I cannot do 
enough for thee ; but thou art pleased to accept 
the will for the deed, and rest contented. I 
have many reasons to make me love thee, where- 
fore I will name two : first, because thou lovest 
God ; and, secondly, because thou lovest me. If 
these two were wanting, all the rest would be 
eclipsed. But I must leave this discourse, and 
go about my household affairs. I am a bad 
housewife to be so long from them ; but I must 
needs borrow a little time to talk with thee, my 
sweetheart. I hope thy business draws to an 
end. It will be two or three weeks before I see 
thee. Though they be long ones, God will bring 
us together in His good time, for which I shall 
pray. Farewell, my good husband ; the Lord 
keep thee. Your obedient wife, 

Makgaret Winthrop. 

My Good Wiee : — Although I wrote to thee 
last week, yet, having so fit an opportunity, I 
must write to thee again ; for I do esteem one 
little, sweet, short letter of thine (such as the 
last was) to be worthy of two or three from me. 

I began this letter yesterday, at two o'clock, 
thinking to have been at large, but was so taken 
up by company and business as I could get biit 
hither by this morning. It grieves me that I 
have not liberty to make better expressions of 
my love to thee, that thou art dearer to me than 
all earthly things ; but I will endeavor that my 
prayers may supply the defects of my pen, 
which will be of use to us both, inasmuch as the 
favor and blessing of God is better than all 
things beside. 

I know thou lookest for troubles here, and, 
when one afiiictionis over, to meet with another; 
but remember our Saviour tells us, "Be of good 
comfort. I have overcome the world. " There- 
fore, my good wife, rise up thy heart, and be 
not dismayed at the crosses thou meetest with 
in family affairs, or otherwise ; but still fly to 
Him who will take up thy burden for thee . Go 
thou on cheerfully, in obedience to His holy 
will, in the course He hath set thee. Peace 



shall come. I commend thee and all thine to 
the gracious protection and blessing of the Lord. 
Farewell, my good wife. I kiss and love 
thee with the kindest affection, and rest 
Thy faithful husband, 

John Wijsithrop. 
Most LoviNa and Good Husband : — I have 
received your letters. The true tokens of your 
love and care of my good, now in your absence 
as well as when you are present, make me 
think the saying false, " Out of sight, out of 
mind." I am sure my heart and thoughts are 
always near you, to " do you good, and not 
CA^l, all the days of my life." I rejoice in the 
expectation of our happy meeting ; for the ab- 
sence has been very long in my conceit, and 
thy re-presence much desired. Thy welcome 
is always ready ; make haste and entertain it. 
And so I bid my good husband farewell, and 
commit him to the Lord. 

Y'^our loA'ing, obedient wife, 

Margaret Winthrop. 
— Clmstian Union. 



The Great Bells of the World. — The 
great bells of Moscow, called the Tsar Kolokol, 
or King of Bells, is the largest in the world. 
It is 19 feet 3 inches high, and measures around 
its margin 60 feet 9 inches. It is estimated to 
weigh 443,772 pounds, and the metal in it is 
valued at more than .$300,000. The bells of 
China rank next in size to those of Russia, but 
are much inferior to them in form and tone. In 
Peking, it is stated by Father Le Compte, there 
are seven bells, each weighing 120,000 pounds. 
One in the suburbs of the city is, according to 
the testimony of many travelers, the largest 
suspended bell in the world. It is hung near 
the ground, in a large pavilion, and to ring it, a 
huge beam is swung against its side. A bell 
taken from the Dagon pagoda at Rangoon was 
valued' at $80,000. Among the bells recently 
cast for the new Houses of Parliament, the 
largest weighs 14 tons. The next largest bell in 
Engla.nd was cast in 1845 for York Minster, 
and weighs 27,000 pounds, and is 7 feet 7 inches 
in diameter. The great Tom of Oxford weighs 
17,000 pounds, and the Great Tom of Lincoln 
12,000 pounds. The bell of St. Paul's, in Lon- 
don, is 9 feet in diameter, and weighs 11,500 
pounds. One placed in the Cathedral of Paris^ 
in 1680, weighs 38,000 pounds. One in Vienna,, 
cast in 1711, weighs 40,000 pounds ; and in 01- 
mutz, is another weighing about the same. The 
famous bell called Susanna of Erfurt is consid- 
ered to be of the finest bell-metal, containing 
the largest proportion of silver ; its weight is 
about 30,000 pounds ; it was cast in 1497. At 
Montreal, Canada, is a larger bell than any in 
England, weighing 29,400 poiinds ; it was im- 
ported in 1843 for the Notre-Dame Cathedral. 
In the opposite tower of the Cathedral is a chime 
of ten bells, the heaviest of which weighs 6, - 
043 pounds, and their aggregate weight is21,- 
800 pounds. — Appleton's American C'ydopmdia^ 



72 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. 



THE OLDEST BIBLE MANUSCRIPTS. 

The two most ancient manuscripts of the 
Bible known are the Codex Sinaiticus of the 
Imperial library, at St. Petersburg, and the 
Codex Vaticanus, of the Vatican library, at 
Home, both of which are believed to have been 
written about the middle of the fourth century, 
A. D. The Linaiticus, so called because it was 
obtained (in 1859) from the convent of St. 
Catherine, on Mount Sinai, is supposed by 
Tischendorf, its discoverer, to be one of the 
fifty copies of the scriptures which the Emper- 
or Constantine directed to be made for Byzan- 
tiiim, in the year 331, under the care of Euse- 
bius of Cassarea. It consists of 3455 leaves of 
very fine vellum, made either from the skins of 
antelopes or of asses, each leaf being 14J inches 
high by V3h inches wide. The early history of 
the Vatican manuscript is not known, but it 
appears in the first catalogue of the Vatican 
library, in 1475. It is a quarto volume, con- 
taining 146 leaves of fine, thin vellum, each 10^ 
inches high and 10 broad. Both manuscripts 
are w^ritten in Greek uncials, or capital letters, 
are without spaces between the words, and 
have no marks of punctuation. — A-ppleton' s 
American Cyclopcedia. 



MOTHER SHIPTON'S PROPHECY. 

The famous prophecy of Mother Shipton, in 
England, has been pretty much fulfilled during 
the°time that has elapsed since her day. Steam- 
boats, telegraphs, iron - clads, tunnels, the gold 
discoveries, the admission of the Jews into Eng- 
land, have been accomplished in our century ; 
as the fire of London, the execution of Charles 
I., the death of Cardinal Wolsey, and the reigns 
of Elizabeth and James, prophesied long before, 
came to pass, each in their own time. The 
British Museum contains several editions of her 
"Prophecies" — one made in 1663, another in 
1667 ; still a later one printed at Newcastle in 
1775, and the last one a reprint dated 1870, and 
from which we copy the following, word for 
word : 

A house of glass shall come to pass 

In England — but, alas ! 

War will follow with the work 

In the land of the Pagan and Turk ; 

And state and state, in fierce strife, 

WiU seek each others' life. 

But when the North shall divide the South, 

An eagle shall build in the lion's mouth. 

Carriages without horses shall go, 
And accidents fill the world with woe ; 
Primrose Hill in London shall be, 
And in its centre a Bishop's See. 
Around the world thoughts shall fly, 
In the twinkling of an eye. 



Waters shall yet more wonders do. 
Now, strange shall yet be true. 
The world upside down shall be ; 
And gold found at the root of a tree. 
Through hills man shall ride. 
And no horse or ass walk by His side. 
Under water men shall walk. 
Shall ride, shall sleep, shall talk. 
In the air men shall be seen, 
In white and black and green. 

Iron in the water shall float. 
As easy as a wooden boat. 
Gold shall be foiind, and found 
In a land that's not now known. 
Fire and water shall more wonders do, 
England shall at last admit a Jew. 
The Jew that was held in scorn 
Shall of a Christian be born, and born. 

Three times three shall lovely France 
Be led to dance a bloody dance, 
Before her j)eople shall be free. 
Three tyrant rulers shall she see ; 
Three times the people rule alone ; 
Three times the people's hope is gone 
Three rulers in succession see. 
Shall spring from difl'erent dynasty. 
Then shall the worser fight be done, 
England and France shall be as one. 

All England's sons that plow the land 
Shall be seen book in hand. 
Learning shall so ebb and flow. 
The poor shall more wisdom know. 

The world to an end shall come 

In eighteen hundred and eighty-one. 



ANCIENT WONDERS. 

Nineveh was fourteen miles long, eight wide, 
and forty-six miles around, with a Avail one 
hundred feet high, and thick enough for three 
chariots abreast. Babylon was fifty miles with- 
in the walls, which were seventy -five feet thick 
and one hundred feet high, with one hundred 
brazen gates. The temple of Diana, at Ephe- 
sus, was 420 feet to the support of the roof — it 
was one hundred years in building. The largest 
of the pyramids was four hundred and eighty- 
one feet in height, and eight hiindred and fifty- 
three feet on the sides. The base covered 
eleven acres. The stones are about sixty feet 
in length, and the layers are two hundred and 
eight. It employed 350,000 men in building. 
The labyrinth of Egypt contains three hundred 
chambers and twelve halls. Thebes, in Egypt, 
presents ruins twenty-seven miles around, and 
containing 350,000 citizens, and 400,000 slaves. 
The temple of Delphos was so rich in donations 
that it was plundered of $50,000,000 and the 
Emperor Nero carried away from it two hun- 
dred statues. The walls of Rome were thir- 
teen miles around. 



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